The Awakened King
by YakFruit
Summary: King Lahmizzash Yak'reb of Khemri died 1,648 years ago. He is awakened from death to answer the call of an even older king of Khemri, King Settra: King of Kings, King of Nehekhara, King of the Golden Kingdom, and so on and so forth. But things are not as they should be, and immortality is not as advertised. (Dormant)
1. 1

_From the Tomb of Lahmizzash Yak'reb, North Wall, Burial Chamber, Section 5E_

 _"King Lahmizzash would dream an often dream. He would awake in cold sand below a black sky without stars. Standing, he found himself in midnight desert. Impelled, the awakened king would climb a dune. From on high, he would see a glorious sight: a great man, atop a shining pyramid, resplendent in golden light. King Settra! King Settra the Imperishable!"_

Lahmizzash Yak'reb, King of Khemri, opened his eyes. Everything was black. He closed his eyes, felt them close. Blackness remained. He opened them again. Pitch black. Am I blind? Is this night? Am I dead? Scenarios and possibilities rushed through his mind. Is this the Realm of Souls? Am I trapped in the pits? No! I am a great king!

In an attempt to calm himself, he focused on his sense of hearing. But he heard only the echo of silence, roaring louder in his ears as a wave of anxiety surged through him.

Grinding stone cut through the silence, a glow of yellow light burst into Lahmizzash's dark world, a line at first, then widening enough to let light pour into… a stone box? He was inside a stone box. The texture was unmistakable. I was dead. This is my tomb. I'm alive. Settra has returned! His fear vanished into a roar of excitement and joy.

Lahmizzash thrust out with his arms, and the stone lid of his sarcophagus flew, shattering upon the stone floor. His tomb was illuminated by numerous torches held by robed and masked figures. The Mortuary Cult.

One of these stepped forward and bowed. "Lord Yak'reb, we greet you."

A sharp pain of offense shot through Lahmizzash. "King Yak'reb! Know your place." he barked.

The cultist bowed again. "Apologies, my Lord. But Settra is King in Nehekhara."

Lahmizzash paused in shock, a wave of indignation at this outrageous claim, then his mind turned and he remembered his recent joy. If Settra was returned, then naturally Settra would be the king. That was proper and must be accepted. He surveyed the cultists, who remained silent but obviously tense. They were waiting for his reaction.

Lahmizzash nodded sagely, theatrically. The cultists visibly relaxed. "Yes, of course. That is only right. My words were but a habit of time now long past… I assume? What year is it?"

The lead cultist bowed a third time, deeper than before. "One-thousand, six-hundred, and forty-eight years have passed since your tomb was sealed, Lord Yak'reb. I am Nekthop, of the Mortuary Cult. I was commanded by King Settra to awaken you in his service."

"I am honored to receive the command of that great King!" said Lahmizzash. He stood- leapt from his sarcophagus. The simply act of moving and jumping felt odd, as if his body did not quite remember how it was done. "I wish to see his golden kingdom! Long I dreamed of it."

Nekthop swept an arm, indicating they should walk from the tomb, up and out into the world again. The other cultists remained silent and moved out of their way. "Lord Yak'reb; first let me say how joyful I am in your quick acceptance of King Settra's throne. Many of the other kings of Nehekhara found their relative… demotion, unacceptable. There have been difficulties."

The cultists followed them up the grand gallery, silent, their torch light illuminating the finely sculpted and inscribed stones of King Lahmizzash's tomb.

"Hypocrites," said Lahmizzash, "My kingdom was full of them: lesser kings of lesser cities. They claimed to adore Settra. They publicly pined for his golden age, preached of its return, but all of it was demagoguery. Base populism that was aggravatingly effective. It is, was… a bane of my life. So few really believed. Though the White Pyramid stood over them all, proof and plain as day. But I knew the crown of Nehekhara rested on my head only because the glorious Settra still slept." He smiled to himself and unconsciously increased his pace, eager to exit the tomb.

Nekthop strode to match his pace. "The walls of your pyramid speak fervently of your wise reign, your strong authority, your admirable will. We have read them all. Your acceptance of King Settra as your sovereign lord proves the stones of your tomb are carved with truth! But I must warn you, there are a great many other surprises for you to overcome this day."

Lahmizzash stopped in his tracks. "Such as?"

Nekthop's face was indiscernible behind the traditional mask of his cult, but Lahmizzash sensed hesitation hiding there.

"Well? Speak!" he said, his tone of kingly authority in full force.

"Unexpected events occurred while you and King Settra slept. Unfortunate and disastrous events." Nekthop fidgeted under his robes. "The golden kingdom does not yet exist. Indeed, all of Nehekhara is ruin."

"What?!"

"The palaces destroyed. The rivers poisoned. The tombs buried beneath the sands. No man, woman, or child remains. Not even a palm, a date, a camel, or even a blade of grass now lives in the woeful Kingdom of Nehekhara."

Lahmizzash stared at the cultist, disbelief and shock warring within him. Finally he laughed nervously, "You jest, surely."

Nekthop shook his head slowly. "No, I do not jest. It is true and you shall soon see for yourself. But that is not the worst of it, Lord Yak'reb."

"Not the worst?"

Nekthop lifted his hands to his hood. "We are awakened, but we do not live. The Mortuary Cult's long quest for eternal life was successful, but… see for yourself." He pulled down his mask. He had the face of a corpse; boney sockets stared from a tattered, linen wrapped head.

Horror shot up Lahmizzash's throat, but he held it down, a pressure in his gut. He willed himself still, he wired his own mouth shut. The dead thing called Nekthop turned to the following hooded cultists, raising its arm to them.

"No," Lahmizzash gasped. "No, I don't need to see them, too."

"It's not just them. Its all of us. Even you. Even our great King Settra."

Lahmizzash's hands went for his face, he felt his palms slide over it, but his fingers felt cold bone. He twiddled his finger in front of his eye, it was bare bone. Disgust roiled in his gut. His gut? He looked down upon his robes, tattered after their long stay in the sarcophagus. Bony fingers, his boney fingers, ripped open the robes to reveal his belly- he saw a linen wrapped torso, wizened and paper like, clinging to bones. No guts in there. They were in a jar, back down the hallway probably. But he could still feel it! His balance wavered, he fell back against a stone wall. Its support kept him on his feet.

"Nauseated? Yes, we feel such things, but they are lies." said Nekthop, "Tricks of the mind. What senses we once had are dead and gone with our living flesh. You see, but you do not have eyes. You feel but your skin is long gone. You smell, but only after you see something that your mind thinks you should smell. Here, look at this."

Nekthop's gloved hand pulled out a small white orb. "What is this?"

"An egg?" said Lahmizzash.

"No, but it looks like a hen's egg, doesn't it? Here- take it. Feel it in your hands."

Lahmizzash took the sphere and watched it roll about his bony appendages, the fingers of his fleshless hand. "It feels like an egg. It has a smooth shell."

"Yes, now look at it. Very closely. Bring it close to your eyes."

Close inspection revealed that the sphere was anything but smooth like an egg. A forest of ragged projections were all over the surface. It looked like endless canyons in miniature.

"Roll it in your hands now."

The sphere felt entirely different, like a handful of jagged pebbles glued together.

Nekthop took back the sphere. "A simple display, but you begin to understand: a great deal of our existence is a construct of our own making. You feel only because your mind believes you should feel."

"What did your cult do to us?" asked Lahmizzash.

"An interesting question," said Nekthop, who replaced his hood in silence, then gestured to Lahmizzash to continue on with him. "But one to which I do not know the precise answer. Generations of Mortuary Cult advancements, experiments, all of them interacting with foreign magical influences… perversions and rites unknowable were performed over the centuries. I do not know the how or the why. It is best you try to ignore that question, as best you can."

The cultist and the tomb king walked together in silence for a time. A nagging thought was bothering Lahmizzash, certain words were itching at something in the back of his mind- perversions and rites unknowable… perversions and rites unknowable. There was something in that, something that sounded familiar and important, but whatever it was, he could not draw it out. If he had a tongue, he would say it was on the tip of it, but just out of reach.

They emerged into soft moonlight, a ring of cultists waiting outside the tomb parted for them. Moonlit dunes spread in every direction, a silver ocean frozen in place. Stone pillars, pointed spires, and other architectural shapes dotted the landscape, mostly submerged like wrecked and sunken ships hidden beneath still waves of sand. The White Pyramid rose before them in the distance, battered and worn by sandy winds, but still glorious, mighty.

"We have plenty of time to learn the answers to such questions," said Nekthop, "but for now, we must help King Settra rebuild our Nehekara."

Desolation. Endless desolation. The Nehekara of Lahmizzash's memory was a green, blooming place. This district which held his tomb was particularly verdant. He designed the irrigation system himself. But the gardens were gone, the city walls vanished. Even the river which had sparked and curved in the sunlight was nowhere to be found. Sand, all of it sand.

"How- how do we begin?" Lahmizzash mumbled. He was a whirl of emotions; horror, exaltation, excitement, dread, despair, frustration. He stared off into the desert without sight, without eyes.

Without eyes. He lifted a bony finger, stared at it as Nekthop droned on about Settra, the words a jumble of noise- meanwhile his own bone-bare finger…

Firming his resolve, he thrust his finger towards his own eye, directly at the center of his vision. It was in his eyeball, behind his eyeball, the offending digit abruptly severed as it passed beyond the limit of his field of vision. After a notable delay, he suddenly felt an alarming jab in his eye which did not exist. He dropped to his knees at the pain, boney knees making boney sounds on the bare stone, screaming. He removed the finger and the pain vanished, but Lahmizzash continued to scream, to let out the burning, aching pressure roaring throughout his body.

It was all gone. All gone! Lahmizzash's loved ones passed through his mind's eye, little snippets of memory, his son's face screwing up in concentration as he prepared to throw a ball, his wife's smile after a surprise, his grandmother's appraising, and slightly disapproving rise of her eyebrow, - all of them gone, dust, bone, sand. His kingdom, the promised immortality, his faith which sustained him through decades. Dust, bone, sand.

Lahmizzash realized he was still screaming, and it felt good, like urinating with an overfull bladder. He took in a shuddering breath, though he had no lungs to fill, no esophagus to shudder, but felt soothed by those feelings, familiar, living feelings. He gathered all these things and then screamed again- this time the panic was replaced by rage and frustration. Nekthop and his followers stepped back as Lahmizzash's voice carried over the sands, and his fleshless hands beat at the stone of his own tomb.

The tomb shuddered, sending thin layers of sand sliding down nearby dunes. The cultists were alarmed, glancing in all directions. "Lord Yak'reb!-" cried Nekthop, but a nearby dune exploded in sand, fragments of stone soaring through the air, black holes in the night sky. Some of those pieces drifted quickly in their direction. Lahmizzash's screams petered out as he instinctually tracked the debris trajectory, dazed. They were going to land near them, but he didn't care. One of them might crush me. That wouldn't be so bad.

The cultists were less passive, many letting out their own screams of alarm as they scattered in a desperate effort to be anywhere else but where they were. It was too late. The stones thundered in, four large boulders of broken masonry thudded loudly into the nearby sand, one hit Lahmizzash's tomb with a deafening crunch of stone- one of the cultists vanishing underneath- bone splinters bouncing off nearby stones.

From inside the dune rose a titanic figure, a massive jackal-headed man, easily 100 feet tall or more.

"A hierotitan!" said Nekthop. "You've called it to service, Lord Yak'reb!"

Lahmizzash watched, still in a daze, as the giant leveraged a massive staff, and with it, climbed from the hole in Lahmizzash's buried tomb and rose up- an ebony titan in silhouette, patterns of gemstones glittering in the moonlight.

"So you see, Lord Yak'reb!" exalted Nekthop. "Not all your Nehekara is gone! Our glorious works yet rise and answer the call! You exist! Your power is not destroyed but simply transformed- buried! King Settra shall reclaim it all, rebuild it all- nay, surpass it all! All memory of Nehekara shall be surpassed by what shall yet come to be!"

The giant turned its jackal snout towards them. Lahmizzash could feel it see him. It recognized him, he knew it. An enormous carved foot lifted and then sprayed sand when it came down near the cultists. Lahmizzash remembered this statue's construction. He saw again the kindly face of Pellon, a priest who had served his father, served as Lahmizzash's childhood tutor, and then advisor until age had turned him frail and sickly. The elderly man had been placed in the center of that statue, still half carved, the Mortuary Cultists busily swaying and chanting in their rites and spells. "I shall be here!" Pellon had called to Lahmizzash, his voice thin but fervent, as the Cultists sealed him up, "I shall await your call to serve again!"

The giant was still, staring down at him from on high. A massive weighing-scale swung idly in the statue's other hand, its clanking chain-work the only sound in the night. The cultists and Nekthop waited in silence.

"Pellon!" shouted Lahmizzash, "I am Lahmizzash Yak'reb, once king of Khemri! Will you serve me now, as you did in life?"

The heriotitan dropped to a knee, shaking the tomb, and bowed its head in genuflection.

"You have a mighty servant, Lord Yak'reb." said Nekthop, his excitement suddenly replaced by caution. "What will you now do?"

Lahmizzash turned to the priest. "We go to Khemri, and pledge our service to the great King Settra!"

Nekthap and his cultists bowed deeply. "So you say, so shall it be done. By Settra's will!"


	2. 2

_From the Tomb of Lahmizzash Yak'reb, West Wall, Shrine Room, Section 3C_

 _"…and so, Pellon the Priest was sealed into the hierotitan, and the young Prince Lahmizzash wept for his friend. The craftsmen and priests looked upon him in awe. They said to one another: 'Here is Prince Lahmizzash, son of King Lahmizzar, weeping for an old priest. He truly loves his people.' And so the people gave him the name, The Weeping Prince, and their love for him grew…"_

Morning came slightly earlier when one was elevated above the sands of the desert. The shoulder of a hundred-foot tall statue felt the rays of the sun a few seconds earlier than the sands far below. Lahmizzash Yak'reb, formally King of Khemri, chief city of Nehekara, and formally a living, breathing human being, did not feel the light heat of the morning sun. The chilling air of a vanishing desert night was likewise meaningless to the unfeeling flesh of Lahmizzash's unliving state.

He did, however, feel the swaying gait of the hierotitan, but he was lodged securely against the jackal-head's neck. He clutched the items looted from his own tomb, his sword and his crown. He could go back for the rest when he had more time.

The White Pyramid of Settra now loomed in the near distance, towering above even Lahmizzash's current lofty height. The only other significant landmark in the sea of sand and buried ruins was a large, dark plateau to the south. In the night, Lahmizzash had thought it was some sort of natural rock formation. Though it was far away, Lahmizzash was sure it was still within the southern limits of the city, such was the size of the old capital. This puzzled him; he did not recall any sort of natural stone plateau there- only irrigated farmland and outer hamlets of the city.

Morning light revealed the mysterious rock to be of obvious deliberate outline, a manmade structure to be sure- easy to see even at this distance. In its destroyed state, its complete form was unknowable, but it hinted at some construction that had dwarfed The White Pyramid in size. That in itself was an astonishing sacrilege- that some king was arrogant enough to believe themselves greater than Settra. Lahmizzash ruminated on the distant ruin while Pellon, the hierotitan, lumbered on, conveying Lahmizzash ever closer to The White Pyramid and to King Settra.

Lahmizzash frowned. Something about the black ruin stirred dread in him. He felt twinges of anger, fear, but also… satisfaction? Was it because it existed or because it was in ruins? He could not quite decide. He stared long and hard at that shape, trying to evoke a memory of its importance, but as it was last night, he could not quite come up with the answer. Perhaps he was mistaken, and the building was from after his own time as King, and King Settra, whom died centuries before him, would be just as ignorant of it.

The thought of Settra returned Lahmizzash's mind to his imminent meeting with that risen king. Lahmizzash Yak'reb was King of Kehmri in life, but that was centuries after Settra, also King of Khemri, was sealed in his White Pyramid. Two kings claiming the same title was a dangerous situation for everyone, but especially for the weaker of the two claimants- which was Lahmizzash in this case. However, Lahmizzash held no ambition for King Settra's claim to Khemri or Nehekara.

He could still remember his own childhood lessons: his tutor, Pellon, (then a normal human and not a giant, living statue,) would read him the stories of Settra: how that great King united all the Nehekaran cities by defeating their unruly and selfish kings, and then the barbarous lands surrounding; how Settra would return from death in glory, and rule over a golden kingdom, everlasting. Settra was Lahmizzash's God-King since an early age, and he was honored by the chance to serve him. But how to make King Settra believe that?

Lahmizzash was not a child, but had been King himself, surviving a lifetime of politics, subterfuge, and challenges to his power. So had Settra. Could Lahmizzash stroll up, say "Hello, King Settra. I was King of Kings in Nehekara after you, but I don't want that title anymore, I promise. I'm here to be your loyal vassal and never betray you!" Sure. That would be an excellent way to return to the sleep of death in a hurry.

No, a God-King was still a man- just a famously successful one. Like any truly successful political figure, Settra was a swirl of ambition and emotion hidden beneath a public persona, purposefully crafted to advance those ambitions and satisfy those emotions. So who was Settra, really? What mortal and mundane psyche swirled under the veneer of the God-King?

Lahmizzash's mind rummaged through his collected memories and knowledge of Settra.

Most of what was known is a hyperbolic mix of legend and history: King Settra consolidated Nehekara through warfare, conquering all the lesser cities and making them vassals of Khemri, the greatest of the cities. He famously battled on the front lines with his own soldiers- indeed, the most popular pottery in Lahmizzash's Khemri was always painted with King Settra atop his war chariot, leading the charge with his iconic crescent sword held aloft.

After the unification, King Settra turned his attention to the surrounding lands and subjugated the barbarous peoples who lived there. Then, famously, King Settra climbed atop a mountain at the edge of those newly conquered lands, and there looked upon the lands he had conquered behind him, and then the vast expanse of unconquered land before him- and wept. Legend says King Settra wept because he realized he would not live long enough to bring Nehekara's light to the entire world- and so the Mortuary Cult gained prominence by seeking ways to make Settra immortal.

Lahmizzash spent his life judging and reading the people of his kingdom. If one stripped away the obvious embellishments of the Settra history: Settra the man was a warlord who was addicted to conquest, likely weeping atop the mountain because his dream of world domination was finally dashed by a world that just kept getting bigger. He was a general who did not fear defeat because he did not know its taste. This belied a cunning mind which crafted favorable conflicts, likely securing victory before the battle even began. Since Settra took to the front lines, he probably enjoyed the blood and chaos of combat, mostly for the enjoyment of seeing defeat in the eyes of his enemies as he ran them through. As King of Kings, Settra made vassals of the other kings of Nehekara, a form of delegation not unlike subordinate officers in an army- so Settra applied his military pragmatisms to other aspects of his life. Settra the man was thus likely aggressive, arrogant, and authoritarian; but with the intellect and personal strength to back it up. In short, Settra was extremely dangerous.

Such a man would be sensitive to challenge, but interested in anything potentially useful. Lahmizzash should approach with deference, but without groveling- any king distrusts the man who bows too much. And, like any person, Settra would favor his own traits in others- so Lahmizzash must appear strong, intelligent, kingly; to gain the God-King's respect without seeming like a potential rival. Lahmizzash nodded to himself. He had his strategy; and just in time, for the White Pyramid of Settra the Imperishable loomed before him.

Near its base, the impressive grand entrance to the revered tomb was in shambles, but that was a notable improvement over the rest of Nehekara, which was bits of ruined masonry lost amidst endless sand. Here lay full walls, broken, but still recognizable as walls. Enormous statutes (the traditional, inanimate variety) lined a long stone causeway to the base of the pyramid- none quite in a single piece; a missing arm here, a missing head there. In some places the long walls had buckled, but no sand seemed to have drifted in.

Sand should have drifted in. Clearly, it's been cleaned up. This place was… alive? No. But active, at least. Lahmizzash realized he was likely being watched closely as his hierotitan lumbered over the final few dunes to the open causeway of Settra's great tomb. Time to start looking the part.

He stood and placed his crown on his head, a modest affair, by Nehekarian standards- a golden circlet, molded into the head of a hawk at the front- but lined with brilliant blue azurite stones in intricate patterns, interspersed by dazzling rainbow opal. Lahmizzash didn't know how other kings suffered the huge, sphinx-styled crowns which were gold all the way down to the shoulders. The circlet alone was heavy enough and caused headaches. His sword was also practical, a sturdy blade of standard design- but Lahmizzash's father had it made for him for his 17th birthday. A soldier's blade- with a few sapphires in the hilt, of course. (He was royalty after all.) But while he had trained seriously with the sword all his life, Lahmizzash had never had to use it, favoring a commanding vista of the battlefield and reliable runners for his orders. If he were honest with himself, Lahmizzash dreaded the moment he may need to draw his blade in personal defense, for in his estimation, the likelihood of meeting a superior swordsman was too great.

Equipped, and in robes as fresh as his tomb's treasure hold could provide, he was ready to meet King Settra. Near at hand was the hierotitan's large jackal ear, into which Lahmizzash shouted. "Pellon, listen! This is a political situation so I need you to act in a specific way. I'm sure you remember the protocols- you taught them to me. Take me into your palm, and carry me three-quarters of the way down the causeway to the grand-entrance, then set me down and remain in genuflect. You are a weapon, my old friend, so it is important you appear as sheathed as you are able. Do you understand?"

The hierotitan could not speak, but it continued to the base of the final dune and then stopped. In a gentle motion, it raised its left hand up to the right shoulder where Lahmizzash was perched. In kingly calm, he stepped onto the offered platform like he did this every day of his life, and then held a confident poise as the hierotitan extended its arm and carried Lahmizzash reverently down the causeway. Though he no longer had much skin, Lahmizzash could feel it itch- eyes were upon him. Figuratively, at any rate.

The world was silent save for the hiss of the wind and the steady booming of Pellon's mighty tread. It was an ominous, eerie place: The scarred, white pyramid above, the dilapidated causeway with its giant statues, the cracked stone steps at the end, leading to a pair of enormous stone doors- Pellon could walk through them, were they open. The rising morning sun disappeared behind the pyramid as they proceeded down the causeway, the shadow cast by King Settra enveloping them.

The hierotitan reached its mark and sank into a genuflection, the hand which held Lahmizzash lowering quickly to the ground- sending butterflies through Lahmizzash's non-stomach. But he held steady, gracefully leaped to the stones of the causeway, and began striding towards the steps. Pellon remained still, as if he too were one of the inanimate statutes of the causeway.

Lahmizzash's feet were much, much quieter than Pellon's, but his steps still echoed as he climbed the stair to the stone doors. At the top, he stood before them and their intricate carvings- he felt something like a toy in a land of giants.

"I am Lahmizzash Akherb of Khemri," he shouted to the stone door, "I am come to answer the summons of Settra, King of Kings, sovereign lord of all Nehekara!"

With a shudder of crackling stone, the doors responded, opening slowly to reveal a columned gallery of vast construction. The dim morning light penetrated the tomb only slightly, as if it too were apprehensive of going inside. The columns were intricately painted, though faded, and behind them, half hidden in shadow, giant statues knelt; hierotitans, a row of them on each side of the gallery, though they appeared inactive. The center was a delicately bricked open space, down which Lahmizzash walked, attempting an aura of relaxed confidence.

He ignored the hierotitans, the legion of other smaller statues (these about twice the size of a man and holding two swords), the menacing stone-carved scorpions and sphinxes, the gold, the jewels, and other wondrous riches which filled this place. His eyes were ahead, focused on the raised dais upon which a normal-sized human figure sat in bored contemplation amidst this entombed wealth and power- a clenched fist supporting a mightily crowned head.

It was a passively provocative posture, and one Lahmizzash himself used on people whom he wanted to see, but didn't want them to think he wanted to see them. He felt he already knew how this audience would go, but then Settra did something Lahmizzash had never done- the great king rose from his seat to meet his guest.

In doing so, King Settra revealed himself to be a tall, broad, imposing figure- his robes pristine and dazzled with gemstones. Settra drew a massive blade from a sheath leaning against his throne, the iconic crescent sword, right from the pottery artwork! The dead king held it there at his side, idly- saying without saying that he was ready to use it at need. More unnerving was Settra's face, it was mummified, dark, but stripped of its linen, so the thin wrapping of ancient skin held tightly over his visage, making his scowl easy to see even if his eyes were vague dark hollows in his skull. Settra favored the grand, sphinx-style crown, but Lahmizzash doubted it gave this intimidating figure any headaches.

To his credit, Lahmizzash held his pace: even steps, never faltering. He decided the lack of real eyes in his own head was a decided advantage- they had no secrets to give up to Settra's gaze.

He neared the dais, near the silent, towering King Settra the Imperishable. Lahmizzash removed his own sword from his hip, still with sheath on. Then removed his own crown, and hung it from the hilt of the sword. He then kneeled, head bowed, and offered the sword and crown up to Settra in upraised palms.

"King Settra, I am Once-King Lahmizzash Yak'reb of Khemri, come at your command with my crown and my sword, for you to take them, and to use them as you will."

King Settra did not move to take Lahmizzash's offered sword and crown. "Why did you answer my call?"

A simple, open question. Difficult to answer. What type of answer would be best? Flattery? That would make Lahmizzash seem sycophantic. Perhaps play stupid? Definitely not. Stupidity won't gain respect. But a variation of stupidity? A stupidity of innocence… an innocent or faultless motive? That could work and it was all he had, delay could be just as dangerous. "Because you are King Settra. I am honored to be called and honored to serve."

"Serve? How do you intend to serve me?"

"By doing what you will have me do."

"Doing what I will have you do…" Settra stepped off his dais, but did not put away his sword.

Lahmizzash remained still, head bowed, palms up in offering. The King approached and stood before Lahmizzash's bowed head. Lahmizzash could feel Settra eyes considering him.

"So you are an errand boy, then?" The King began to circle Lahmizzash. He could see Settra's sandaled, bony feet slowly walking around him. "Will you fetch me dates? Sweep the sand from my doorstep? Are you not King in Khemri? You will allow yourself to be used thus?" King Settra's voice dripped with skepticism.

Lahmizzash was being stalked. An instinctual alpha-predator was circling him, sniffing and snarling. It was time to show he had thorns.

"I allow myself to serve the King of Nehekara."

King Settra stopped his pacing. "You ALLOW?! YOU ALLOW yourself to serve me?"

Lahmizzash chose to take the question as rhetorical. Settra was off-balance, so Lahmizzash remained silent to let his answer do its work. The longer King Settra spent interpreting, the more invested he will become in getting the answer.

"Explain!"

This was the moment. Lahmizzash rose from his knees without Settra' allowance. He stood face to face with King Settra the Imperishable. The king's scowl deepened as Lahmizzash stared into that dead face and its empty sockets. "I, too, am a king of Khemri. In my time, I spoke and all obeyed. But that was then, and this is now the dawn of Settra's Golden Kingdom. I allow myself to be used, a tool advancing your will. I allow my authority to be diminished by your greater glory. In this way, the King within me may exercise its royal prerogative: King Yak'reb serves King Settra because King Yak'reb wills that to be so."

Lahmizzash offered again his sheathed sword, crown dangling loosely from the hilt- but he did not kneel. He started back into King Settra's scowling face. "This is my royal gift to you, King Settra. My preeminence is now yours, your majesty."

King Settra was silent. Lahmizzash wished he could see the man's eyes, but no one had eyes in this land. Now he wished Settra could see his own eyes, and the confidence he would make visible within them. Settra took the offered sword and Lahmizzash let it go.

Settra leaned his own massive blade against his thigh, and used the freed hand to remove Lahmizzash's dangling crown from the hilt of the sword. The king turned it in his hand, examining it, but Lahmizzash could not be sure since Settra's head remained immobile- Settra may still be looking directly at him. Abruptly, King Settra hurled the crown into a distant part of the dark galley. It clanged mutedly against something in the dark. Lahmizzash did not react, but his mind raced at that. What did that mean? Was it disrespect? Was it disgust in a rival's crown, so easily attained? Was it a critical review of the crown's design? Hardly…

Next, Settra began examining Lahmizzash's sword. He pulled the blade halfway out of its sheath. "This is a good blade. Practical." King Settra drew it and slashed the air in an easy, practiced motion. "The balance is perfect." He brought the edge close to his face and made a show of examining the edge of its length. "It's pristine. Virgin. You never used it."

This coming from a king who led from the front line, red sword slashing. In this, Lahmizzash could either admit he had never fought anyone personally, or lie. Say he fought in battles? Dangerous. He might be challenged by Settra to single combat, a form of entertainment for the warrior King. No, that would be disastrous. Lahmizzash thought he should possess traits that Settra loved in himself, but he should not try to cast himself as a lower-quality Settra copy. His mind whirled. Victory! Settra adored victory, above all else. That was the path.

"My rule was firm and Nehekara mostly at peace. I never needed to use it. Though I did practice with other blades, to save this one's edge should I find myself in personal battle."

"Your kingdom warred. I read your history. You deployed troops in anger, you gained Khemri through conquest. The histories tell of your victories against the Erased Name," Settra let the tip of the sword drop, pointing it directly at Lahmizzash's face. "You led from the rear, avoiding battle."

The Erased Name? What was King Settra talking about? No, forget that. That is for another time- answer the question!

"My soldiers were the agents of my will- they were better suited to the task. From the rear, I told them to go, to do; and I won while my enemies fell. Is not victory beautiful to behold, regardless the vantage point?"

Settra's scowl faded for the first time, the sword tip dipped to the ground, no longer threatening. King Settra's jaw clenched, a soft sound of grinding molars, while he considered that statement, as if he were chewing the idea, cautiously tasting it.

He offered Lahmizzash's weapon back; blade in one hand, sheath in the other. "Take it. You will need it in my service. Nehekara is not what we remember."

Lahmizzash took the naked blade, his hand briefly touching Settra's hand as they exchanged the grip. Then Settra casually took up his own blade and turned to walk back to his dais. Lahmizzash Yak'reb realized he held a drawn sword in hand and King Settra's back was before him. It was a test and a trap, not a subtle one.

Obvious that Settra would turn and strike upon the whisper of an aggressive move- but still, the king and politician within Lahmizzash felt the pull of the unexpected and tantalizing opportunity. Before his mind's eye, Lahmizzash saw a fantasy of striking down Settra and ruling Nehekara himself. Blasphemous, traitorous thought! Lahmizzash dismissed it and remained still.

King Settra walked casually back to his throne, took up his own sheath still waiting there, then finally turned back to regard Lahmizzash. Slowly and deliberately, Lahmizzash sheathed his blade, returned it to his hip, and bowed low. King Settra sheathed his own blade, then descended from his dais again, this time ushering Lahmizzash to accompany him in a walk back down the gallery towards the distant entrance. "Very well, Lord Yak'reb. I called you here to serve, so I will tell you of your first task."

Lahmizzash fell into step. "Of course, my King."

"King. King. King. That word is an eternal host to difficulties, it is not?" Settra's voice was changed- lighter. Less formal.

"Yes. I slept much better before my coronation."

"As did I. But one of the few blessings to come from the Cult's failure is that we no longer need to sleep. That is good, for there is too much to be done, and quickly. Which is why I ordered you awakened. I am in need of those who can enforce my will when I cannot do it personally. I am Settra! Risen from the dead! But I am singular; and can only be in one place at a time."

Lahmizzash remained silent. He recognized the opening statement of a kingly assignment. He'd given countless of them himself.

"You are not the first I awakened to that purpose, Lord Yak'reb. And a great many woke before even myself. You look surprised. But know this: none of this was according to plan. Something foreign woke up the dead of Nehekara. I awoke to find my kingdom in ruin, and my subjects in chaos- dozens of lesser kings awake and each claiming power over the others. It was civil war- and I went out to put the fools in their places. A few of those early risers came to their senses, and accepted my sovereignty. The rest either fled- or stood their ground. And I ground them to dust.'

'The battles over Khemri are stopped, but Nehekara is still destroyed and most of our people remain in the sleep of death. The commoners, the soldiers, and the like: all of them were not prepared for this… afterlife. They awaken, but they don't speak, only follow commands- utterly devoid of their own will. I ordered the Cult to fix that, but those idiots… I do not anticipate a quick solution. Most of those capable of real sentience are the worst of the lot: aristocracy; an obnoxious and petty breed, on average. You, Lord Yak'reb, appear to be exceptional. I want you to deal with someone who is very much in the mean: King Ubaid, he calls himself."

Lahmizzash's memory lit up upon hearing that name. "Ubaid, King of Numas?"

"Yes. He is from your time period, am I correct?" King Settra's head turned toward

Lahmizzash.

"Yes, your majesty. I know it well. He caused many of my sleepless nights. Ubaid was a verbose critic, always toeing the line of treason. But Numas was an important city for the Kingdom, and I was loath to open civil war over words, for in deeds Ubaid was careful and gave me no justification. I deemed it not worth the disruption to the people."

"A jackal who slinks in the night, ready to strike at a sign of weakness. I would have killed him and been done with it."

"Such a solution was not politically expedient, you majesty. I survived him."

King Settra dismissed that statement with a wave of his hand. "Regardless, he is a problem now. He and his forces lurk near the ruins of what once was Numas, to the east. He stands in defiance of the Crown, and will be destroyed." King Settra advanced to the open door of his tomb and stopped.

Outside, the Nehekaran sun was already cooking the earth. Pellon the hierotitan, playing the statue and kneeling in the causeway, appeared blurry through the rising heat in the air. King Settra turned to Lahmizzash, his chin upturned in an authoritarian gaze.

"Lord Yak'reb, mount your… steed, and return to your tomb. My servant, Nekthop, will have awakened your soldiers, and they will be awaiting your commands. With haste, you will proceed to Numas, neutralize the forces of the traitor, Ubaid; and bring him, or his remains, back to me."

Dismissed. Lahmizzash bowed to King Settra, and then set off towards his kneeling hierotitan. He did not look back, but could feel Settra's eyes upon his back for a time, but before he reached Pellon, the slow grinding of stone marked the closing of the doors of Settra's tomb. He stepped upon the lowered palm of the hiertitan, and shouted, "We return to my tomb!" The statue rose from its kneeling posture, turned, and strode away- leaving a causeway which was just as empty as when they arrived.


	3. 3

_From the Tomb of Lahmizzash Yak'reb, Grand Gallery, East Wall, Section 2G_

 _"King Lahmizzar became surrounded and x-x-x-x approached and slew him. So Prince Lahmizzash became King of Lahmia, and took up the reigns of the gathered armies, adorned in the esteem they held for his slain father. He gathered the chariots of all the kings' forces, and swept the field, his enemies broke before him. Afraid of the new king's might, x-x-x-x withdrew, and his chief lieutenant stood to delay the armies of King Lahmizzash in their pursuit. But a javelin pierced the lieutenant's heart, and so his forces crumbled. King Lahmizzash led his army through the foe and reached Khemri, sacking and destroying the throne of x-x-x-x. Thus, King Lahmizzash of Lahmia became King of Khemri, and so, King over all Nehekara."_

Lahmizzash's buried tomb was visible over the crest of the next dune- a half buried stone entrance, black and dark, and another larger gap in the dune where Pellon burst out the night before. Now, however, there were large groups of what appeared to be people, idling around the tomb entrance. As he neared, it became clear these were the soldiers promised by King Settra. However, most appeared to be lighter on flesh than Lahmizzash himself, naught but bones holding swords and shields, some with tatters of blue heraldry that marked their loyalty to the Yak'reb Dynasty.

Pellon halted before the tomb, and Lahmizzash stared down at the hundreds of skeletons- his army: three companies of skeletons with sword and shield, two companies with spears, and a small company of more fleshy warriors. These last stood in orderly fashion about the entrance of the tomb- and the familiar robed figure of Nekthop stepped amongst them from inside the tomb.

"There, Pellon. Place me near the cultist. I would speak with him. And don't step on any of those… people."

Pellon brought up a palm, Lahmizzash stepped on, and was lowered back to the entrance of his tomb- Nekthop watched his descent expectantly. Lahmizzash was unnerved by the crowds of animated skeletons- their dry, empty sockets following his descent with uniform attention. The mummified soldiers saluted as he stepped off the hierotitan's palm.

"Your tomb guard," advised Nekthop, " They are still loyal soldiers, and their entombment was granted more attention than the average man-at-arms. You'll notice them bulkier, stronger, and much more resilient than the rabble of bones out there."

Lahmizzash examined the armor of one of the tomb guard- intricate, carved with the blue hawk of House Yak'reb. These were the loyal officers of his forces, granted honored places of burial within his own tomb.

"Your tomb guard are unusual," said Nekthop, "They appear to have been buried at different times. Some before yourself, but most of them after. Why is that?"

Lahmizzash tried to recognize the face of the guardsman, thinking it may be someone he remembered, but he could not place it- it was too degenerated. "I ordered them to follow me in their own time. The tradition of murdering the servants of a king upon his death is ignorant barbarism- these people had lives and families. They had places of honor with me in death, but I saw no need to be greedy. I imagined I would not be going anywhere and could wait a few decades for my loyal followers to join me as their own deaths came as fate decreed."

"An enlightened point of view," said Nekthop, "one few kings shared. I know of only three other tombs like yours."

"Such as King Rakkan of Bhagal?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Many of his writings survived in my time. His grandest work: "Life, Death, Life," was controversial, and advocated against forced entombment, among other obsessions of the Mortuary Cult. I found his arguments sound- I'm saddened I was in the minority. Perhaps we could have avoided… all of this."

The cultist remained silent. Lahmizzash had not been tactful and likely deeply offended the robed priest. But Nekthop's cult was responsible for this unsightly horde of cadavers, and Lahmizzash himself barely distinguishable from them.

"Guard!", said Lahmizzash, "What is your name?"

The tomb guard did not respond, did not even look at him. Lahmizzash frowned. King Settra had said something about this, about the lesser castes being of lesser ability upon awakening. But could it really be so? Lahmizzash turned to a different tomb guard, this one a physically imposing female, "Guardsman! State your name!"

She, too, seemed oblivious to his voice. Were they even human? "Both of you, sit!" he commanded.

The two guards immediately sank to the ground and sat with crossed legs. Lahmizzash found himself disgusted at the sight of it. "They are dogs. They are nothing better than dogs!"

"Loyal dogs, to be sure, Lord Yak'reb. As this is your tomb, no one else can really command them but you. We can get them as far as this by ordering them to prepare for your arrival. But more than that- well, I think if you did not return, they would stand here until they turned to dust." said Nekthop, "- but believe me, their martial prowess remains in full force. The rabble out there, well, I'm not sure they are as reliable. They are just the common soldiers who took advantage of the free burial pits around your tomb."

Nekthop did not understand. Lahmizzash could feel a simmering rage burning just behind his eyes. The Cult! The Mortuary Cult! Their promises as empty as the sands of Nehekara. The loyal servants and soldiers of House Yak'reb reduced to this, this, slavery! Worse than slavery, for they even lacked the ability to perceive they were slaves. They were things. Automatons. Dolls that could move. Not like Pellon the hierotitan, whom continued to serve out of loyalty, but instead things which moved because Lahmizzash said they should move, and for no other reason; not for pay, or loyalty, or faith.

"What happened to them!" Lahmizzash rounded on Nekthop, who leaned back in shock. "What did your cult do? Rocks have more willpower!"

"The- the- the cult- the spells," stammered Nekthop, "The spells the Cult cast upon them were less powerful- less expensive! Lower quality! Whatever forces created us, also created them, but they were less protected from the foreign corruption. But that's just speculation, Lord Yak'reb! I- I- we- don't know for sure!"

"Oh, but you are just fine." sneered Lahmizzash, "You are not of noble blood. But I see the cult spared no expense on its own members- a valuable use of the royal tithes, I'm sure."

Nekthop's jaw opened and closed under his veil, but no words came out. The priest was flummoxed. Lahmizzash did not expect any answer, he knew the Cult had no answers- but attacking Nekthop felt good, cathartic. He felt a deep aversion for the cultist, a disgust, an anger, that he could not quite explain. He did not remember feeling this way towards the Mortuary Cult before he died, so what was different now? Perhaps he was just using Nekthop as a scapegoat for the current situation, but at the moment, he didn't care.

But this line of conversation was not profitable. Lahmizzash changed topic. "Where is my wife?"

"What? Your wife?" Nekthop's voice was regaining its normal pitch, "She was buried in your tomb. Your tomb's walls record that her death was seventeen years after your own death, but we have not excavated that part of your tomb. There were collapses, and King Settra ordered us to prioritize you and your soldiers."

"Well, you've provided me my soldiers, what's left of them. Is this all?"

"No-.. Yes. This is all of them" said Nekthop.

"Why did you answer no, first?" asked Lahmizzash.

"I meant there are no more other soldiers awake. This is all of them."

"So there are more sleeping?"

"No, this is all of them."

Nekthop was lying, that much was obvious. There were more soldiers here, it was no secret. He'd had five companies of royal guard in life. Not to mention the other constructs created, at great cost, by the Mortuary Cult; things of less height than the mighty Pellon, but still taller than a man. So why was Nekthop lying about something so obvious?

The most likely reason was Settra. Nekthop and his band of cultists were here on Settra's orders. King Settra did not want all of Lahmizzash's forces awakened, or at least not yet. What had Nekthop said when they first met, that there had been difficulties with other awakened kings? Kings like Ubaid of Numas, who took their troops and stood in defiance of Settra's rule. So, King Settra was not so quick to trust. Lahmizzash's actions would need to back up his words. So be it. But he would use Settra's minions, too. After all, he outranked them now, regardless of the evident leash Settra was holding about his neck.

"Fine," said Lahmizzash, "Then you have plenty of time to excavate the tomb of my wife. See that it is done by the time I return."

"King Settra requested my return to his tomb, after I finished awakening your army."

Logical argument did not work. It was time for the stick. Lahmizzash said, slowly: "If I return from King Settra's mission and my wife's tomb remains buried, I will be very upset with you, Nekthop."

"That is unfortunate- but King Settra-"

No, no, priest- you cannot hide behind your orders. "My dear, Nekthop," Lahmizzash smiled, though his mummified face likely didn't show it. He spread open his arms, indicating the undead soldiers surrounding them. "King Settra awoke me to direct armies in his name. I command a hierotitan. If I return and my wife remains buried... are you sure King Settra will favor you? You seem more replaceable than I."

Lahmizzash preferred subtle, open-ended promises of violence- better to let Nekthop's imagination create the threat. It would always be more effective than anything Lahmizzash could come up with, since only Nekthop knew what Nekthop really feared.

The priest nodded slowly. "Well, if I left behind some of my neophytes, they could accomplish your request while I fulfilled Settra's orders and return to his tomb myself."

"An elegant solution." said Lahmizzash. An easy victory, but it should be. Nekthop was just a priest whom held only the power he was granted by others, divine or otherwise. Agreement made, time to switch topic again . "And the others? My loyal followers. Can they be fixed? Made like us?"

"It is a question King Settra has placed to the Cult. We are working on a solution, but as I have said, it is complex," said Nekthap.

"We are making progress, Lord Yak'reb!" said a new voice- it was muffled but nearby. Nekthop used his palm to smack a sack which hung from his sash.

Lahmizzash looked about, but it was just himself and Nekthop amidst the silent, standing dead. "Who speaks?" asked Lahmizzash.

"Someone who should only speak when spoken to!" said Nekthop.

"Who?" asked Lahmizzash. "Where is this person?"

Nekthop sighed and un-tied the drawstring on the pouch hanging from his waist. "It was Khant, my research assistant. You may remember last night, one of my acolytes was crushed by a falling stone. That was Khant, and we discovered this morning he escaped complete destruction." Nekthop pulled from the sack a skull, and turned it to show Lahmizzash.

"I greet thee, Lord Yak'reb. I am Khant. It was I who spoke out of turn. I apologize," said the head.

Lahmizzash, who thought his undead army was the most macabre thing he would see this day, was again taken aback. "Ah, no need to apologize. What is this progress you were speaking of?"

"Well, we are very confident that the corruptive force of magic was some form of necromancy!" said the skull. Nekthop shifted his weight, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation.

Lahmizzash stared at the talking skull, held in the hand of a mummified priest, amidst a small army of skeletal soldiers. "That is a discovery? I am a living mummy and you are a talking skull! What else would this be? Your cult's necromancy went awry!"

"No, no, forgive me, no! Lord Yak'reb, it is an easy mistake for a layman to make, but the magic of the Mortuary Cult was not, is not, necromancy! We do not seek to raise the dead, but to bring the dead back to life! Ultimately to discover immortality! But some strong force of necromancy interacted with the Cult's magic. It is the end of the thread that will allow us to begin untangling the knot!" Khant's voice was rich with enthusiasm, and it sounded like something Lahmizzash had not heard since his awakening: It was genuine.

"So when this knot is untangled, what then?"

"We will know where we are, in terms of our existence, so we can start to make our way towards the true goal! Life everlasting!"

"So the Cult doesn't have that yet? In all these thousands of years?"

"No, the Cult-"

Nekthop put a hand over Khant's mouth and said, "The Cult should not divulge its progress, as people tend to think success is much closer than it is. Thank you, Khant." Nekthop moved to put Khant's head back in its pouch. Lahmizzash mused that it was a strange object now. A person, yet not. A small orb of consciousness and knowledge. Like a talking book. Holding intimate information about the Cult. And Settra. And the happenings between his death and his awakening…

"Wait! I will take Khant with me," said Lahmizzash.

"What?" said Nekthop, "you want the severed head of my research assistant?"

"Yes, I need an advisor in regards to my new army. As a member of the Cult, he is knowledgeable in their capabilities and weaknesses in their current… state. Plus, I imagine it will be difficult for him to continue assisting in your research- he cannot even turn the page of a book."

Nekthop considered Khant's head like one would consider an old possession during a house cleaning. "I suppose that is true. I'm not quite sure what we are to do with him."

Lahmizzash seized the moment of indecision. "What say you, Khant? Will you aid me?"

Khant was no fool. Nekthop was likely to place him on some shelf and forget him, and Khant knew it. "Yes! I am eager to assist in what ways I can."

"Very well, if it will please you, Lord Yak'reb." Nekthop handed over the head. Lahmizzash accepted Khant into his hands, and it was a decidedly odd experience- like carrying a baby, which had the intellect of a grown man, and that baby was only a head.


	4. 4

_From the Tomb of Lahmizzash Yak'reb, Entrance, Section 1A_

 _"Here lies King Lahmizzash Yak'reb, son of King Lahmizzar Yak'reb, King of Lahmia, King of Khemri, King of Nehekara, Victory-Bringer, Slayer of x-x-x-x, Slayer of Greenskins, Leader of Men, Beloved by the People, The Weeping Prince, The Blue Hawk…"_

"The architecture of your tomb is exquisite," said Khant, the decapitated skull.

He- it- whatever the best pronoun might be for a talking skull, was in Lord Lahmizzash Yak'reb's right arm; nestled against Lahmizzash's side like a watermelon bought at market. Khant, the head, was amazingly talkative, yammering away about anything and everything that crossed its boney brain as Lahmizzash took his leave from Nekthop, found a torch, and descended back into the tomb. Lahmizzash, the once King of Khemri, was inclined to be tolerant of Khant's loquaciousness. He supposed if one were just a disembodied skull, there was little else to do but talk.

However, Lahmizzash's many years as a ruler of men prejudiced him against idle flattery. "Oh? What do you find impressive about my grave?" said Lahmizzash, the light of the torch in his left arm illuminating their way back into the depths. Nothing revealed a sycophant easier than an open-ended question.

"The vaulted alcoves!" exclaimed Khant, "I've never seen such intricate arches!"

Lahmizzash raised his torch. Along the ceiling of the passage, there were indeed symmetrical alcoves along each wall, each filled with indiscernible items that sometimes glittered in the flickering torchlight. These alcoves were the bank of his afterlife. The portion which religion decreed would be needed in the next life. Since Lahmizzash was now a living corpse and could empty any or all of these alcoves at whim, it seemed the old beliefs were correct- not in the way he envisioned, but correct all the same.

The alcoves themselves were tricky to build. Their arches needed to be joined with the ceiling of the tomb just so, otherwise the integrity of the entire construction would be in doubt. Lahmizzash remembered long days with the foremen of the construction team, drawing and testing prototype arches- rare moments of self-indulgent pleasure in an overworked life of duty and ceremony. Architecture was his hobbyist passion, and these arches were a triumph of his original ideas. Lahmizzash was deeply proud of them, so despite himself, his opinion of Khant the cultist-head improved dramatically.

"They were a struggle!" said Lahmizzash, "Where did you gain such an eye for architecture?"

"I joined the Cult as a child. I was the third son."

"Ah," said Lahmizzash. It was tradition for the third son of noble families to join a religious order. The eldest son would inherit the calling of the father. The second son would join the military, unless the father was in the military, of course. And the third, the priesthood- or the Mortuary Cult. "So I imagine you spent a great deal of time inside crypts and tombs?"

"More time than the dead do, it seems!" said Khant. "Even now, an army of the dead stands about outside in the sun and wind, but here I am- descending into a tomb."

"I could leave you outside?"

"No! No, Lord Yak'reb. I did not mean it as a complaint; only an observation on the strange pattern of my life."

Lahmizzash shuddered at the word 'life'. It was eerie to hear it from a skull tucked under his arm.

They entered the modest central chamber. Lahmizzash's empty sarcophagus was in the center of the room, lid shattered on the floor. The rest of the room was a work of art. Elaborately chiseled columns bordered the space, and the walls and ceiling were symmetrical stacks of arched alcoves- interspersed by flat stone engraved with gilded hieroglyphs. All of this Lahmizzash designed, though he'd expected it only as a vessel of travel to a new and glorious afterlife.

Countless times, Lahmizzash entered this room to oversee some new section of the construction. It had been busy, noisy, and smokey from all the lanterns needed by the craftsmen. Now it was silent and regal, as if the room too had died. It was decidedly surreal to enter it now.

Lahmizzash placed Khant down on the edge of the empty sarcophagus. "I need to find a few items for our journey."

"What are you looking for?"

"My staff of office."

Lahmizzash began slowly walking along the walls of the chamber, using the torch to pour light into the recessed alcoves. Jewels and shiny coins were piled in most, almost as a filler of space between the larger items stuffed within. The downside of a modest tomb was thus: cramped storage space full of all the items one supposed might be needed in the afterlife.

Gods! Why are there so many coins? Lahmizzash thought to himself. It's amazing how useless they seem now. Or are they?

"Has an economy established itself?' Lahmizzash called back to Khant.

"Of sorts," came back Khant's voice as Lahmizzash continued his searching. "Gold is in seemingly endless supply, buried amidst all these tombs- but there is little to buy. So it's useless. But there is a market of sorts for canopic jars."

Lahmizzash paused in his rummaging and thought about that for a moment. Canopic jars? Why would anyone want those? "Organ jars? Why would those be in demand?"

"They are pieces of Nehekarans, sealed away in magic jars amidst sacred rites and incantations. The canopic jars thus contain a surprising amount of latent magical energy. Energy of the variety employed by the Mortuary Cult. The way in which they were sealed seems to protect them from the necromantic corruption which primed us all for awakening."

"So they can be used?"

"Yes, in many ways. Some of the Cult are devoting every hour to their study. As a matter of procedure, the canopic jars of kings, such as yourself, are gathered and utilized in the ritual of awakening. But some theorize that additional jars can augment those already awakened. I have doubts about that, myself."

"Such as?" Lahmizzash spotted a promising alcove. Where was that staff?

"Such as the simple fact that a canopic jar contains a bodily organ. It seems the addition of extra organs to a person, undead or otherwise, becomes superfluous at some point. What need does a man have for a third kidney, when he has no humours to circulate? I think the jars are better used in other aspects- such as the creation of constructs or the augmentation of those poor souls outside."

Jars of human organs were more valuable than gold or jewels in the new Kingdom of Nehekara. A currency of body parts. What a strange existence. The weight of the depression Lahmizzash felt earlier that morning began to threaten him, but then he spotted what he was looking for: an ivory pole was sticking out from beneath a pile of gold. He pulled it out, sending a cascade of coins clinking about on the stone floor.

It was a stout, ivory staff- chest high in length, as thick as a javelin. The gleaming pole was carved from the tusk of some massive beast of the far northern seas. On top, a flat platform was carved, its edging in the shape of the hawk of House Yak'reb. In the center of this platform, a large lapis-lazuli stone was set, shaped like a raindrop. It was a lovely stone of rich and vibrant blue- the same color of the clan regalia. But it was worthless now. Lahmizzash wrenched the stone from its place and tossed it back into the alcove from whence it came. He quickly gathered a number of necklaces from the treasure horde and returned to Khant at the sarcophagus with his prize.

"What are you doing, Lord Yak'reb?" asked Khant. "May I see?"

Lahmizzash sat next to the head on the edge of the sarcophagus. He reached over and turned the skull to face him. "I'm making your pedestal."

"What?"

Lahmizzash placed the staff between his legs and held it upright with his knees. "Come here, Khant. Let's see if this will work."

"What?" said Khant as Lahmizzash lifted him up. "Whoa!"

Lahmizzash set the head of Khant gently on the top of the staff. He pushed him down firmly on the setting, the head settling in a bit awkwardly, but surprisingly securely.

"Oh!" said Khant, as Lahmizzash played with the seating of the skull. "This feels quite odd."

As secure as it could be, Lahmizzash unlinked all of the necklaces, attached them end-to-end, and then wrapped them about the skull, securing it tightly. He stood and took up the staff experimentally. It was not much heavier than it was with the blue stone. He shook it slightly to gauge the weight and balance.

"Whoa- whoa!" said Khant.

"There, that is much better. Now you shall attend me in proper stature." said Lahmizzash.

"Lord Yak'reb!" said Khant, scandalized. Lahmizzash rotated the staff so the skull faced him. "Lord Yak'reb! You've turned me into an ornament! I'm a thing! A material item! Oh, this is cruel. You are a cruel man! My humanity is gone! I'm an inanimate object!"

"You've nothing but a head. You are an inanimate object." said Lahmizzash.

Khant began wailing, the mournful sound echoing out of the still skull. "Oh, gods, I'm cursed! I'm cursed!"

Lahmizzash realized that Khant was breaking down. The reality of his unlucky fate was beginning to hit home. This skull contained the mind and soul of a man. Without a body, what is our own head but a tight box? A prison with windows from which we can only peer out. Perhaps Khant's talkativeness was just a means to keep himself distracted from his own depressing condition.

"Khant! Khant!" Lahmizzash said, trying to stop the man's wailing. It fell in volume, which Lahmizzash interpreted as success. "This is just a temporary thing for you. I will find a way to get you a body. You won't be as you are forever. But I need your help, your knowledge. You are a member of the Mortuary Cult!. The knowledge to improve your existence is inside your own mind. I promise I will help you as I can. Do you know of anything that can be done for you?"

"Not that I know. We are still unsure of a great deal." said Khant, his voice cracking. But he sounded like he was regaining control of himself.

"Well, we will learn. And I am a vassal of King Settra himself. As my servant, you shall benefit from what I will come to possess and command. I promise you that I will help as I can."


	5. 5

_From the tomb of Lahmizzash Yak'reb, Grand Gallery, West Wall, Section 2E_

" _When afield, King Lahmizzash would set his tent upon a hill with a commanding vista of his army. His tent did not have walls, but stood open to the wind. When his army as a whole marched, mustered, battled, worked, or trained, King Lahmizzash would adon his armor and stand in the sun, to suffer the heat along with them, his blue armor gleaming in the light. The officers would say, "Are you tired? The Blue Hawk is still standing!" The soldiers would say to their comrades, "Don't slack! The Blue Hawk is still watching!"_

Lord Lahmizzash of House Yak'reb re-emerged into the sunlight, resplendent in the gold and blue armor of his dynasty. The ivory staff of his office, bedecked with the skull of Khant, looked a bit out of place- more like a goblin shaman's fetish than a symbol of Nehekaran aristocracy. But when Lahmizzash strode confidently amidst the gathered soldiers of his army, orderly rows of human skeletons bedecked in time-worn equipment- the skull did not look so out of place.

Lahmizzash motioned to Pellon the hierotitan, standing on the far edge of the idle soldiers. The giant statue obligingly kneeled and offered its palm as a platform. Lahmizzash stepped upon it and was raised to a commanding height over his forces.

Instinctual dread washed through Lahmizzash's gut when he looked down upon the hundreds of soldiers- all of them staring up with those dark and empty eye sockets. In the past, this would be the moment of inspirational speeches- a critical moment to set the tone of the endeavor which would risk the lives of hundreds of people, if not the thousands upon thousands who dwell in the kingdom of Nehekara. As King, Lahmizzash gave such speeches a few times in his life. He believed it was best to ground the conflict in the practical matters of the soldiers. Give them a reason to fight.

"The king in Numas stands in rebellion! He ignores the supremacy of Khemri! He disregards the union of our nation and so the sacrifice of your ancestors who bled for that union" shouted Lahmizzash. Such lines would assuredly extract a chorus of displeasure from a loyal army of Khemri- even the commoners believed that Khemri rightly ruled as chief city in Nehekara.

But the soldiers were silent- the empty-socketed skulls continued to stare up- wordlessly. "Shall we show this usurper that-" The fire of Lahmizzash's rhetoric went out, with no energy of the troops to fuel it. "-that we disagree?" More silence. Lahmizzash stared down into those hundreds of black pits. The wind ruffled quietly through the exposed fabric of Lahmizzash's under-armor. What was the point of this?

"We march to Numas!" he shouted. As one, the soldiers reoriented themselves to the east and began marching, a cloud of dust rising from the sand churning under their combined tread. Gods, what machine of war was this? Lahmizzash watched his army tread slowly up the nearest dune, Pellon waiting for several minutes for the infantry to advance far enough to justify a single step forward- a single massive stride covering the same distance. This is going to be a long trip.

Lahmizzash watched his soldiers travel up and down a few dunes, Pellon keeping pace, taking eight steps in a half hour. He lodged his staff into the gap between Pellon's fingers and sat, cross legged on the statue's open palm. The desert sun was descending behind them, turning the brown gold sand of day into the more metallic, orange gold of the afternoon. "How good are you with geography, Khant? How far is Numas from here?"

"Maps were never my specialty, my Lord," said the motionless skull atop Lahmizzash's staff.

"Well, let's see-" Lahmizzash said as he thought through it, mostly for something to do. "When I was king, my messenger to Numas would return in nine days with a response. They would travel by chariot along the highway, which would carry them more north than east to Agatta, which was more a crossroad town than a real city- no king ruled there. Then they would turn south-east toward Numas. The roads were good, so the chariot could probably cover 40 miles in a day. A nine day round trip: with one day being for the delivery of the message and the polite amount of time to consider an answer- which would be given to the messenger the following morning. So four days of travel, so about 160 miles. Meanwhile, we take a more direct route, perhaps only 120 miles in length. But we lack both chariots, highways, and fresh mounts."

Khant remained silent as Lahmizzash worked through his calculations.

"Soldiers were expected to march about 18 miles in five hours , plus perform the daily habits of living. One march in the morning, a sun-camp during the heat of the day, then more marching until the last light of the day. That's 36 miles a day, but any commander expecting a battle would want to move slower to preserve the troops for combat and to appropriately scout the land ahead. My soldiers, however, do not require food nor sleep nor daylight. By this time tomorrow, they will march about 80 miles or so. We will arrive in Numas in about a day and a half. Do you concur, Khant?"

"Uh… Yes, Lord Yak'reb. I think you are correct," said the skull. Khant either zoned out during Lahmizzash's rambling considerations or simply did not have much of a head for numbers. Either way, this marching time was a perfect opportunity to get more information about the current state of affairs in Nehekara.

"So then, how long have you been awake?" asked Lahmizzash.

"I awoke with the others- the other members of the Mortuary Cult. We were amongst the first of all Nehekarans. I clearly remember my first moments. I thought I'd been buried alive and became panicked. But my cries of alarm were answered- others were awake and sealed in the darkness around me. I think we all began grasping to the voices of our comrades like lifelines- proof that we were not trapped alone was a sweet drink in the dark. After we'd all managed to calm one-another, someone managed to break their way out of their own sarcophagus and freed the rest of us."

"So none of you had any idea what was happening?"

"We had no idea. I distinctly remember an exchange between two of our number, as we all shuffled around in the dark like a blind pack of rats. Someone said: 'Are we dead?' and someone responded: 'You don't sound dead.' We all laughed. It seemed terribly funny, at the time. It wasn't until we found the exit and saw each other in daylight that we realized."

"What was that moment like?"

"It is hard to say. I think we all stood around, boiling with our own emotions and revelations. I'm sure someone watching us would just have seen a bunch of fools looking at their own hands and touching themselves and their companions while intermittently gibbering in shock. For some reason, I was fascinated by putting my fingers through the gaps in my wrist bones. And that is how Elder Nekthop and the other elders found us. They put us to work immediately, and the old habits of 'obey the elder cultist' is so ingrained, we set to it."

"Or you all just settled in the ruts of your old lives."

Khant remained silent a moment. "Yes, that might be accurate, Lord Yak'reb."

"I mean no offense. I'm just commenting on a pattern I see- it may apply to all Nehekarans now. When I awoke, I immediately responded to a sense of duty- a call to serve Nehekara. King Settra's call, to be specific. And when I met him, he is clearly acting to assert his authority- for which his rule is famous. King Ubaid was always a rebellious man in my time, and he seems unchanged. Finally, the acolytes of the Cult immediately settle into their subordinate positions under the Cult elders. We are all of us acting like we once did, despite how the world has changed."

"Yes, I think that an excellent observation, Lord Yak'reb. Now that you have pointed it out, that does make sense."

Lahmizzash let that sit on Khant's mind for a few moments. Pellon took a step. The time was ripe to get some valuable information out of the cultist. A direct question, like 'What are the Cult elders doing?' would trigger any sort of habit of secrecy that may be trained into Khant. But the same information may be drawn out indirectly.

"Were the elders as confused as you acolytes?"

"I think so, but they hid it better at the start. They quickly organized us into teams to light up all the crypts, free anyone still trapped, and clear the sands which buried most of the compund, and it is a big compound. A few of us were ordered to seek information from other cities, but most returned and said the city was no longer there. Just sand and ruins. It was only after three weeks that the tomb kings began appearing with their armies."

Lahmizzash considered that. Kings such as himself, suddenly awakening in the darkness all over Nehekara. None with a welcoming party of the Mortuary Cult- they would need to bash their way out of their own graves, dig from their tombs, discover their own condition- all of it likely alone and in the pitch black. A traumatic experience- potentially a psychologically damaging one. Lahmizzash realized he was lucky to have remained asleep, and Nekthop effectively eased him into the new reality as gently as possible. All the same, Lahmizzash had broken down under it all and accidently awakened Pellon, the hierotitan upon which they now traveled. Was it in similar tantrums the first awakened accidently raised entire armies? Then, spotting the only landmark of note in this desolate place, headed for the Great Pyramid of Settra- standing like a beacon for the city of Khemri, heart of the kingdom of Nehekara and central to its power.

"What happened?," asked Lahmizzash, "What did the tomb kings do?"

"Most visited us at the palace of the Mortuary Cult. Some seemed half-mad, but most were simply confused and ignorant, seeking answers to the current situation in the Kingdom. All of them figured, reasonably so, that of anyone the Cult should know what was going on. Our elders answered them with explanations that contained many words but little else. The tomb kings would leave as confused as when they arrived.'

'For a time, they wandered around the city, then seemed to have the idea to claim important buildings- the old legislature, the central vault, the palace, the causeway to King Settra's tomb. The fighting started when two of them wanted the same thing, and the fighting escalated as the stronger kings began subjugating the weaker ones."

"The obvious crisis point for us in the Mortuary Cult was the moment some of the kings decided that the cult's compound and lands were a desirable asset and moved to seize them. We lack both weapons training and dedicated soldiers, so when the forces of one of the kings marched in, we could do nothing but accept it. I forget which king it was, but he went into audience with the elders and rumors floated down that he made extravagant demands and seemed eager to squander what limited resources the Cult possessed."

"Jars?" asked Lahmizzash.

Khant and his staff shook slightly as Pellon took a step. "Yes, the canopic jars and their application. Again, I am unsure, but the common story amongst us acolytes is that the elders agreed to the demands, but instead of following through with them, the entire elder council took what jars they possessed and made their way to King Settra's tomb."

"How did they manage that? With the army all around you?"

"I am unsure. No one is sure. But the elders entered Settra's tomb and completed the ritual of awakening. King Settra awoke, awakened an army, and marched from the pyramid. He battled with anyone who did not kneel before him. Some few joined Settra, and the others were routed. Any opposing kings which were captured… Settra had them killed."

"Killed them? When we are already dead?"

The skull was silent a moment. "I saw it happen to the king who had taken control of the Mortuary compound. He dragged the king out into a stone courtyard and had one of the hierotitans step on him. King Settra ordered it to grind its heel into the stone- there was nothing left of that man when the hierotitan was done."

Lahmizzash remembered the words King Settra used: 'The rest either fled- or stood their ground. And I ground them to dust'. So, the King of Kings was not a figurative speaker. Lahmizzash gazed out over the dunes as Pellon made another giant stride, keeping even with the marching soldiers. "But does that really kill them? Can we die?"

"I don't know, Lord Yak'reb. I hope so. Otherwise those enemies of King Settra live on, but as dust and shards of bone- blown about by the wind."

Lahmizzash tried to imagine what it might be like. To exist as dust, unable to move or speak, but simply think and exist, while feeling the fact that one's body was hopelessly and eternally fractured. It sounded like the exotic punishment of some deep circle of hell- whether it was death or not was irrelevant, it was no desirable fate either way. He eyed Khant, the skull atop the staff. He was most of the way there.

"What do you feel, Khant? Can you still feel your body? Are you aware of it?"

"Last night, I did. I could feel the weight of the stone on it. I could feel the sand, the odd… disconnection of the pieces that flew about when the stone crushed me. But when I was found, I didn't notice it as much when I was talking with the others. Now I feel nothing but this staff in my throat."

"Maybe distance is a factor?" mused Lahmizzash.

"Maybe, or perhaps since the head once contained the mind, we naturally center ourselves in the skull? I assure you, I am as much a mystery to myself as I am to you. Even Elder Nekthop was astonished to find me."

Is that where the soul is, then? The head? Some say the heart. Others say it is an ephemeral thing which does not really dwell in any specific place. But Lahmizzash realized this was all impractical thinking- what mattered was that it was best to try and stay in one piece, and that was no different than how it was when all the Nehekarans were flesh and blood. It was time to return this conversation back to more useful lines.

"Do you know of King Ubaid's awakening? He was awakened by the Cult, was he not? Like me." asked Lahmizzash.

"Yes," said Khant, "I was there, too. Elder Nekthop performed that rite and I was one of the assistants. Ubaid was highly inquisitive. I could tell Elder Nekthop became annoyed with him. Neither have eyes, of course, but I imagined Ubaids would have been darting about and Elder Nekthop's were rolling."

Lahmizzash's mind called up a memory of King Ubaid- a short, fidgety man who did not go far without his honor guard. His eyes did indeed dart about, like a sparrow, always watching for threats and never relaxed; a man devoted to loss-aversion- easily controlled with small carrots and a visible stick. Not a personality that Lahmizzash thought would actually rebel against him, and certainly not against a more imposing figure like King Settra. "What happened? How did he rebel against King Settra?"

"Elder Nekthop showed him how to raise his armies. Once that was done, King Ubaid simply turned and led them into Numas- ignoring King Settra's call. We returned to Khemri alone. King Settra was displeased, to say the least, but we had done exactly as he asked and did not punish us for it."

There it was! Induce the sharing of mundane information for long enough and something really valuable will tumble out. Lahmizzash seized this gem immediately.

"So King Settra gave different orders for my awakening? I was not shown how to raise my own army- I awakened Pellon by accident."

Khant went silent for a long period.

"Khant?" Lahmizzash prodded.

"I uh- am not aware of what orders King Settra gave, but since Elder Nekthop did not show you how to raise your soldiers, I presumed it was at King Settra's command."

It made sense. The army gave Ubaid power- enough to make him feel confident in his own independence, and so Ubaid ignored King Settra's call and set himself up as a rival power. A blunder, a major political blunder. However, Lahmizzash could understand how King Settra could do such a thing. Sometimes, a person accustomed to victory can take it for granted and thus miscalculate some important move; And who was more accustomed to victory than King Settra?

So Lahmizzash was awakened, given a shorter leash, and sent to rectify King Settra's mistake. Judge and sharpen a new tool while rectifying a problem; it was efficient. Lahmizzash's respect for King Settra rose slightly; he may be the tool being used, but that is as it should be. If he were to be used, best to be used by a master craftsman.

"How many soldiers did Ubaid raise?"

"More than you, Lord Yak'reb," said Khant quietly.

"How many more?"

"Maybe twice more. And there is no telling how many he has managed to raise since."

Well… that wasn't good news. Over twice as many soldiers? Lahmizzash won victories as a general, but he was not so confident in his abilities to prevail over those odds. He felt Pellon take another step, which reminded him he had this hierotitan, that should be worth quite a bit. But still, would King Settra just throw him and his forces into the maw of a hopeless battle? He doubted it. But then again, perhaps King Settra was not convinced of him. Perhaps King Settra himself had put on an act, and was now sending a potential rival against another to weaken them both. Was King Settra using him as a tool, or as an arrow? Shot once and not retrieved.


	6. 6

_((Writers Note: The aforementioned revision is complete. Takir Ackherb is now named Lahmizzash Yak'Reb. You can recruit him through the tech-tree in Warhammer 2: Total War.))_

Or perhaps King Settra himself did not know his own intentions. Perhaps Lahmizzash's performance would determine that decision? Whether he was a rival or no, to be defeated by King Ubaid of Numas would be proof of his incompetence- assuming Lahmizzash managed to survive such an outcome, he doubted King Settra would execute him for failure- he was not known to be that sort of king, but Lahmiazzash would certainly never be trusted with an important task. Likely he would be set to govern some small outpost, and be an administrator for the rest of foreseeable eternity.

Would that be so bad? Would that not be more desirable than wandering about the ruins of his fallen kingdom, forcing the enthralled bodies of his former subjects to battle each other till dismemberment? It would be a peaceful existence of low expectations.

No. Lesser men of lesser dynasties could settle for such a fate, but he was Lahmizzash of Lahmia, former king of Khemri, and could not stomach such an ignoble future. Not that it was outcome that could be relied on, and not that it would be easy to contrive a defeat at the hands of Ubaid that he would survive. No. No. Ubaid must fall, and Lahmizzash must figure a way to bring it about.

If not for his own fate, than for the fate of his loved ones who remained asleep. The ability to awaken them rested with the Mortuary Cult, and they were under the thumb of King Settra. Victory here would bring influence with King Settra, and that was real, tangible, useful power to wield in this destroyed land. King Settra would grant him cultists to perform whatever Lahmizzash might wish them to perform- he would likely think it a cheap cost of upkeep for a loyal vassal king who was proven useful and effective.

But how to gain victory over a force over twice as large as his own? If King Ubaid lacked constructs, like a hierotitan, and only commanded a large amount of foot soldiers, then Lahmizzash thought he might have a chance. But hoping the enemy was ill equipped was a poor way to plan for victory.

"Can you show me how to raise more troops, Khant?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know how you are able to awaken troops, Lord Yak'reb. Elder Nekthop would do that privately with the king."

"But you are able to awaken soldiers, too? Can you show me that process?"

"I could explain the process, but- I mean no offense, the explanation would be full of the jargon of magical rites. It is not something a layman can just do. And mainly, even the most basic of rites would need three acolytes at least. We cannot perform the spells like the true priests can at will."

"I see."

The innocent regret in Khant's voice was enough to convince Lahmizzash that the cultist was telling the truth. He was, after all, a relatively low ranking member of that society. So he was stuck with the number of forces he had now, that much was certain. He would need to rely on strategy to gain victory, and the only real option for a small force against a larger force was to split the larger force into more manageable pieces. A pitched battle against a superior army was a roll of the dice with terrible odds, and while he knew of generals who famously prevailed in such situations, it was certainly not a feat they would have preferred to attempt could they have avoided it.

To plan a divide-and-conquer strategy, Lahmizzash needed information. His tomb did not contain maps of Numas, and even if it had, they would not be relevant to the present state of Nehekara. He had no horses, assuming his soldiers could even still ride them. No chariots. No way to scout the terrain ahead or watch for enemies. He was commanding an inferior force, entering unknown terrain, and he had no idea where the enemy was. The current situation did not bode well for a successful campaign, but there was no helping it. Innovation and intuition would have to win the day.

He still had this heirotitan, and that was a powerful vantage point. He took up his staff and turned to Pellon's impassive visage. "Pellon, bring me up to your head, I want to sit up there a while."

The massive statue obliged, elevating its palm up to its forehead, allowing Lahmizzash to easily walk across and sit in a comfortable position at the tip of the heirotitan's head. Every bit of elevation helped, but so far, he could only see the rolling terrain of sand and stone outcroppings- the terrain becoming more rough and rocky as one headed east from Khemri. If there was anything to see, anything possible for him to see, this would be the point from which Lahmizzash would see it.

Khant was silent, likely taking in the vista just as Lahmizzash was. The silence was an opportunity to review his memory of Ubaid of Numas. The man was not a confident nor powerful figure, but he knew well enough how to command with the authority that had passed to him by birthright. There was no lack of loyalty in his people, as far as Lahmizzash could remember, but he doubted there was any great amount of admiration. Not that such a thing mattered with the current state of the common-folk and their semi-awakened nature.

Lahmizzash cast his mind back- back before his death, back before Nehekara was ruined, back to when all this land was rich with green plants, shining rivers, food and drink and countless content families to enjoy it all:

One year, a ways into Lahmizzash's reign in Khemri, King Ubaid arrived for a feast… or perhaps a hunt? No, it had been a presentation of debutantes. That was it. All the cities were sending girls to the capital. Several eligible young ladies arrived from Numas to attend the grand ball held in the palance, one of those ladies being a niece of King Ubaid himself. It was an innocent enough arrival, though a surprise, and Lahmizzash had thought little of it at the time, since most of his attention was spent avoiding the endless meetings and committees his wife, by tradition, needed to attend. She liked his suggestions and authority close at hand to smooth the process. Makea was herself a keen political mind and a power in her own right, but she liked to play the "let's see if my husband, the King, agrees with me" card any time she could because it worked so well and because he almost always did. So Lahmizzash much preferred making himself scarce.

So it was out in a nondescript tavern in the city that Amtop Yak'erb, his brother's third son, found Lahzmissash, King of Khemri and all of Nehekara, drinking and idling the afternoon away with his personal guard and some other choice old soldiers held in high regard. Maintaining personal relationships with the people was an important aspect of Lahmizzash's rule, but it was still a rather embarrassing thing to be doing when the kingdom's chief intelligence officer showed up with an alarming report: King Ubaid and two of his engineers were inspecting Khemri's walls and gate.

It was not exactly a hostile thing to do, but certainly rude- like finding your houseguests, drinks in hand, idly inspecting your master bedroom during a party. Except in Ubaid's case, it would be a houseguest who was known to be extremely jealous and desirous of your home. Lahmizzash, Amtop, and their guards left their retired comrades to their cups and set off across the city to confront King Ubaid. They found him and his followers just outside the gatehouse, inside which was the lumbrous mechanism that controlled the massive portals through the city walls. A female guard captain was resolutely standing in the doorway of the gatehouse, blocking King Ubaid's party from entering.

"This has been quite long enough!" King Ubaid was saying, as Lahmizzash and his party approached. "You king would not begrudge his guest a review of something so simple as a gatehouse!"

"I apologize, your highness," said the gatehouse captain, "But I cannot allow anyone inside who is not pre-approved by the King of Khemri."

"I'll have you reported for your obstinance, woman! Your lack of respect!" shouted King Ubaid.

"No need for that, King Ubaid," said Lahmizzash, and the little king nearly jumped out of his sandals. That was all Lahmizzash needed to see to gauge Ubaid's intentions here.

"Ah, Lahmizzash. Good you are here." The man's eyes darted about Lahmizzash's escort which was significantly larger than his own. "I'm about to embark upon a renovation of Numas's gates and defenses, and was hoping to take comparative notes from Khemri's."

Lahmizzash did everything he could to keep his pleasant politics smile on his face. Ubaid's pointed omission of Lahmizzash's title was just the sort of off-hand defiance that was something of his calling card. Amtop and their accompanying guards were bristling at Ubaid's lack of respect, Lahmizzash could feel their ire like a tingling on his shoulders.

Lahmizzash stepped forward and put his arm around the flinchy man's shoulders, turning him away from the gatehouse. Ubaid's few guards twitched as Lahmizzash laid hands on their king, and that caused Lahmizzash's guards to twitch- but no weapons were drawn and the tension passed. Lahmizzash walked Ubaid through them all in apparent companionship while saying: "I received word that this evening's presentation is nearly prepared and your niece, the Lady Pella, was lacking her royal uncle's elbow. I'm happy to finally find you. We shall have a chariot return us both to the palace."

"Oh, yes, well we must get back to the palace right away," said Ubaid in a subdued tone.

In short order, King Ubaid was in a chariot, speeding back to the palace with one of Lahmizzash's personal guards as an escort- his followers faced the prospect of a long walk, but some of the city watchmen were gathered up to make sure Ubaid's men made it back without any side trips.

Amtop and Lahmizzash watched them all depart. Amtop talking quietly, lips scarcely moving as was his habit: "It was an overt move to examine our defenses. Do you think Ubaid might be more of a threat than we give him credit for, Uncle Zash?"

Amtop was family, he could use the King's short-name- Lahmizzash had known this fromidible young man since Amtop was soiling himself in his mother's arms. "No," said Lahmizzash, "Ubaid doesn't have the nerve to siege a city, nor the popularity to bring others to his side. I think he is telling the truth in that he is upgrading the defenses of Numas. Building thicker walls is exactly the sort of thing King Ubaid would be interested in."

"If you say so, Uncle Zash. Shall I continue my watch of him."

"Yes, do. And find the name of that gatehouse captain. I want her promoted. Tell my seneschal that I would have lunch with the woman, she will arrange it. That captain may be a keen mind capable of greater things."


	7. 7

Lahmizzash came out of his memories. Ubaid was afraid to lose, not eager to win. He would do the safest possible thing when confronted by an enemy- he will remain within his defenses and let the enemy break upon his advantageous position. Daring attacks were not within Ubaid's comprehension. While this did not bring Lahmizzash closer to a victorious strategy, it did open up his options: he could be reasonably sure that he could maneuver his forces aggressively in the territory of Numas without risking them being attacked before he himself could attack.

However, it was unclear how Lahmizzash could use that to bring victory for his troops. A battle when outnumbered was one thing, but to be outnumbered while attacking the enemy's prepared defenses? A direct assault was entirely out of the question, and Numas was likely to be protected from every direction. He hoped his assessment of Ubaid was correct, as there was no good reason for his superior army to remain inside a fortification in the face of a much weaker enemy. Unless Ubaid knew that Lahmizzash must assault him? No, Ubaid wouldn't even know Lahmizzash again walked in Nehekara. Or did he? Could King Settra have told Ubaid, set this entire thing up? Manipulate Lahmizzash into feeling the need to assault a defended position with an inferior force? No, that was too many layers, a tangled suspicion on the verge of paranoia. No, it had to be something simpler.

King Settra was either ill-informed or wanted Lahmizzash and his army destroyed. Lahmizzash doubted the former, and the latter was entirely grim. Should he rebel himself? He could join Ubaid, perhaps. Lahmizzash's mind recoiled at that idea. Submit to the power of Ubaid of Nasam, that sneaky rat in a crown? Never! If he were to betray King Settra, he would be on his own- and he lacked the military force to make that a viable option except in the case of simply fleeing the entire region altogether, abandoning his family and loved ones to their sleep- or Settra's inevitable vengeance. No. No. That was impossible. This was a trial of faith, it had to be, and Lahmizzash recognized again that the only path forward was victory. He would have to trust that King Settra had something planned and was not just looking to sacrifice a pawn for some greater strategy.

Lahmizzash gazed across the darkening horizon. There was nothing to see but rolling sand slowly giving way to arid rock. His army would not be in sight of Nasam until sometime after sunrise tomorrow. There would be little to do tonight but keep watch through the darkness. Last night, the night of his awakening, a powerful moon bathed the desert in silver glow, so visibility should be similar tonight as well. He would need to remain vigilant. Ubaid was likely holed up in Nasam, but it would still be irresponsible to march on blindly through the night. Should he send a unit ahead, spread out, as a sort of scouting party, or was his vantage on the hierotitan adequate?

"Lord Lahmizzash… I think I just saw something move," said Khant.

"Where?" Lahmizzash leapt to his feet and scanned the land before them.

"Just off to our left, perhaps 45 degrees, near those natural stones emerging from the sand. I think something just moved behind one."

"Could you tell what it was?"

"No, it was just a motion, a shadow. I don't know what it was."

"Is there any wildlife left?"

"None that we have seen so far, my Lord."

"Well, let's go check it out. Pellon! Advance ahead of the troops to those natural stones on your left, about a half-mild ahead, do you mark them?"

In response, the hierotitan reoriented on the stones and picked up his stride, leaving the marching soldiers behind. Pellon's wide strides made the top of his head a more precarious perch, Lahmizzash sat down to avoid losing his balance. His gaze never wavered from the stones as they approached, growing larger with each of Pellon's steps, but he didn't see any new signs of movement from them. Perhaps Khant has seen a mirage?

The hierotitan was practically on top of the stones now, so Lahmizzash regained his feet and was preparing to look down on the stones from above when a black shadow darted from behind the rocks and scurried for the top of the nearest ridge. In the growing twilight, it was unclear what the thing was, some sort of hunched man, but a long rope appeared to be trailing behind it.

"Pellon, grab that man, but don't crush him! Just catch him in your fist!"

The hierotian increased its speed and oriented on the fleeing figure. Against the speed of the hierotitan, there was no chance of escape. Pellon leaned forward, forcing Lahmizzash to snatch at the hierotitan's ear to hold on. The statue's right fist came down on top of the figure, and it let out a screech of fear and rage, and another as the statue's fingers curled around its body and lifted it into the air. The figure's clothing was dislodged, a hood fell, revealing a long, hairy and whiskered snout.

"A skaven!" said Khant, "Oh my, how exciting! I've never seen one in the flesh before."

Lahmizzash stared at the struggling, squeaking rat-man as Pellon raised his fist to let his passengers consider the new prisoner. Skaven, the rat-people of yore, used to scare children into better behavior. Beasts of rumor from traders and travelers from tribes in the near north, across the strait. Until now, Lahmizzash would have sworn such things did not exist.

"Gods," said Lahmizzash, despite himself. "What do you know of these… folk? Can they speak?"

Before the cultist skull could answer, the skaven shouted out: "I can speak-talk, you dead things! Let me go!" Its voice was at times high, at times a guttural growl, the words, while accented, were understandable. Not only could it talk, it could do so in their language. How that might be was a question for another time.

"Why are you here in Nehekara?" said Lahmizzash.

"Nothing reason! Just walking. Looking at the big sand" said the rat.

"I think he's lying, my Lord," said Khant.

Lahmizzash held down his annoyance. This was not the time for outbursts, and there was never a time for such an obvious observation. He would need to talk to Khant about this, but not now, not in front of their prisoner. He let it pass.

"Where are you walking from? Where are you walking to?" Lahmizzash asked the skaven, who was still struggling to free himself. The rat didn't respond, instead he began to gnaw at Pellon's stone fingers.

"Pellon, squeeze it slowly, and stop squeezing when it squeaks."

The hierotitan's fist began to clench and the skaven squeaked in alarm in short order. "Stop, stop!"

"Answer my questions!" shouted Lahmizzash, "Or do you need to be squeezed harder?"

The skaven abandoned its struggle, instead staring at Lahmizzash with its moist, malevolent eyes. "I from the big rocks. I walking north, to the big water."

The big rocks and the big water? So it came from the mountains, and was going north to the strait. "What is in the big rocks? More of your people?"

"Yes, yes!" hissed the skaven, "The endless fury of Clan Mors is there! They will kill you if you hurt me, dead-thing! They will avenge me!"

"You are that beloved by your nation? This.. Clan Mors?"

"Yes! They need-love me and would avenge my death!"

"Then why did I find you out here, all alone?"

The rat remained silent. Lahmizzash changed tack.

"Where were you running to, just now? Surely you didn't think you could outrun us, so did you have a hiding place in mind? A hole?"

The rat-man fidgeted, but still did not say anything.

"Pellon, I think it is time for another squeeze."

"Wait, wait, dead-thing! Disgusting-thing! I will tell-tell. There is a hole to the underway. The underway filled, lots of rocks. So I came up-up to find new way down-down to keep going to big water."

"Underway? You mean under the ground? You walked from the big rocks all the way here, underground?"

"Yes, underway good. No dead-things like you, easy to walk far-far."

"Do your tunnels connect with the city east of here, between this place and the big rocks?"

"All cities connected to the underway! Clan Mors dig-build everywhere, like all the clans! All day-cities belong to Clan Mors, they just not know-know yet."

King Settra would disagree with that statement, but if the skaven could be believed, the answer to his current military dilemma had just fallen into his lap. Circumvent what defenses may be in Numas, come out inside the city via this 'underway', and secure Ubaid without a pitched battle. They could either snatch him away from his army, or threaten the rebel king with violence and have him order his army to stand down- Lahmizzash was confident the latter was possible. Ubaid responded well to threats.

"Point me to this hole." said Lahmizzash.

In only a few minutes of Pellon walking them around, rat in fist, they discovered the hole that the skaven was speaking of. Whether or not it actually connected to this 'underway' was another matter, but it was worth investigating. But first, they needed to turn around the army, which in all this time, was still marching dutifully to the east. Lahmizzash ordered Pellon to run out ahead of soldiers so he could tell them all to stop. He left them standing in the growing dark of night, but had the company of tomb guard follow him back to the rat's promised hole. Pellon lowered him to the ground and his tomb guard came forward to take possession of the skaven. They gathered together in the darkness near the rat's hole.

The moon was rising, and while it was bright, it was still night. Lahmizzash may be of the walking dead, but his vision had not improved any. "Is there not a way to make fire?" he asked Khant.

Embarrassingly, it was a task he'd never had to perform himself in all his life. Fire was simply readily available wherever he'd ever been. If it was not there, his servants would create it. He glanced around at his tomb guard, sixty dark corpses silently standing in the moonlight, four of them with the skaven creature grasped firmly between them. It did not seem the guards retained such specific knowledge or ability like fire making, or if so, lacked the equipment or initiative to follow his leading question. He was reduced to asking a man without a body about how to make a fire.

"Lift up a stone so I can see it," said Khant.

Lahmizzash did so, and after a few moments, the stone began glowing white, till it illuminated them all like a dim lamp. The shadows the light cast across the faces of his undead tomb guard made them even more gruesome than in the daylight.

"An excellent trick, Khant."

"It is a child's rite- one of the first we are taught. It will last a day, at least."

Lahmizzash cleared a spot in the sand and drew a large square. "Khant, this is Numas. We don't know what it looks like these days, but knowing Ubaid, he will have fortified himself somehow. I'm going to put you in command of the army, and here is what you are going to do…."

Khant's skeletal face could show no emotion, but in the shadows cast by the glowing rock, it sure looked like his mouth was gaping in astonishment at his sudden promotion.


	8. 8

The underway was not as Lahmizzash imagined. It was no natural cave nor orderly shaft, as he'd seen in mines as a child. No, it was as if some giant thing had carved and bored its way through the earth, leaving haphazard piles of debris in its wake. Lahmizzash and his party picked their way carefully over and around these piles, like piles of feces from some massive worm. He'd brought ten of his tomb guard with him, and four of them maintained a constant hold on their guide, the captured Skaven.

The rat person was amazingly mercurial, vacillating wildly between defiant outrage and sycophantic cowering. This alone made Lahmizzash decide against ever letting the creature act under its own power- it was sure to bolt at a moment's notice. Lahmizzash's own eyes, despite not being really in his head anymore, had no advantages in the dark. Presumably, his soldiers were in the same situation. Lahmizzash did not want to send them in pursuit of a rat person who likely lived in places like this, so the rat would remain a firmly secured prisoner for now. Though it had been quiet for a few miles.

"Are we still going the right way?" asked Lahmizzash, his voice echoing in the blackness. Now that he was committed to this plan, he was starting to doubt it. The parts which before had seemed daring and necessary now seemed entirely foolish, potentially disastrously so.

Dekdek hissed with anxiety. "Quiet, quiet, stupid dead-thing," it whispered, "yes, we are going to the big dead place you want to see. Put out the shiny! We will be seen!"

"What will see us? What are you afraid of?"

"The underlands are big-big! Much bigger than sun-lands above. There are many things here that are not good to meet, not for Dekdek, and not for dead-things. Put it away!"

Lahmizzash didn't quite believe that, but he couldn't see without the stone. He used a part of his clothing to shield the glowing stone and focus the light. No harm in some prudent caution.

The party continued on into the dark, the entrance cave now miles behind. If this skaven was leading them false, Lahmizzash may never find his way out. It was not a comforting thought. He had extra stones that Khant made for him, but they were all made at the same time, so would all wear out around the same time. Wandering an endless dark was not an attractive fate.

Just as Lahmizzash was considering interrogating the skaven again, Dekdek said. "Here, here, turn here, go that way."

Lahmizzash shone his stone in that direction. The light revealed a gap in the underway wall. They advanced towards it, doubts running through Lahmizzash's mind. Was this really it? Or was it just some random passage to keep him satisfied? Or was it a trap? How could he know? He leaned forward to get the light from the stone as far down the passage as he could. He was thinking about menacing the skaven a little more to be sure, but then his eye caught a change in the stone- a shift from the natural to something much more recognizable.

He led his silent party forward, and indeed, the passage quickly transformed from the oddly clawed rock of the larger passage to symmetrical block work and legible hieroglyphs- this was a Nehekaran place. Lahmizzash scanned the walls: _'Here journey in afterlife the loyal cats of Ahep, King of Numas.'_ This was it! The growing anxiety over his own plan of action deflated in a gush of relief. He and his soldiers were inside Numas and Ubaid had no idea they were there. Of course, Lahmizzash had no idea where he was either, within that city, but… one thing at a time.

And to that end… "Hold the rat here until I send for you." He ordered the four guardsmen holding the rat. He gave one of them a spare glow-stone. "Avoid contact with anything that may be down here."

Dekdek hissed, struggled half-heartedly against the iron grip of his four captors.

"You said I lead you here, I free-go!"

"I said I would not kill you and that deal is done. You are alive. Perhaps we can make another deal, later."

He left the rat fuming in the darkness, leading the other six of his tomb guard through the crypts of Numas' old dynasties. The quality of the stone and of the carvings changed as they made their way through the labyrinth, passing through different eras of Nehekaran history as they went. Old families had deep tombs, but inevitably the surface was always up and to the right.

Lahmizzash noted that all the sarcophagi in this place were still sealed shut. If any kings of Numas had awakened during the initial chaos, that had not come from this family. He entered into a chamber larger than all the ones he had yet passed through. The soft glow of his light stone did not reach all the way into the dark, only slightly illuminating the base of some circular pillars which rose from the floor into the gloom before being lost in the black.

This looks like the grand gallery, so we must be close. The exit must be over-

A clang of metal on stone froze Lahmizzash's mind in its tracks. Then the sound of a waterfall of coins came from another direction in the dark. In a rare show of initiative, the tomb guard stepped forward and formed a protective screen around Lahmizzash, their curved swords at the ready. Even the less aware Nehekarans had realized they were not alone in the dark.

The sound came from the same general direction as the exit was likely to be, so there was nothing to do but advance. He took out the two remaining spare glow-stones and gave them to the flanking soldiers on the right and left. They understood their purpose enough to hold them aloft and illuminate the surrounding darkness. It was indeed a grand hall- gems and coins were littered everywhere, gleaming in the soft light as they made their way through. After the slight sounds of movement which had alerted them, the current silence seemed deeper and more oppressive. Lahmizzash idly wondered if his tomb guard felt anxiety or anything at all- he was certainly feeling edgy. He may be a dead man, guarded by dead men, but the instinctual fear of things that go bump in the night was still with him.

The silence broke with shrill, inhuman screams- bestial, deformed humanoid figures leaped from the shadows on all sides. The gleaming blades of the tomb guard reacted without hesitation, mummified arms dealing out swift and heavy strikes. The attackers fell back with oozing black wounds and screeches of pain and rage, several severed arms lay before Lahmizzash's wall of Nehekaran blades. Dull red eyes glowered at them as the creatures reconsidered their assault.

Lahmizzash knew these things, another beast of childhood fable, but one he knew to be real. Crypt ghouls- disgusting, feral beasts that perhaps were once human beings in some forgotten time. They could get into poorly constructed tombs and wreak havoc on the contents, and menace the family when they attempt to enter for another internment of a loved one. These ghouls had been looting, likely having gotten in the same way Lahmizzash did. They were equipped with improvised cudgels- gilded candlesticks, goblets- one actually had a sword but it was holding it by the blade with intent to strike with the hilt.

Stupid, pointless creatures- only existing to trouble everyone else. He would need to have them eradicated later, but that was not a current priority. He was here to find Ubaid, the rebel king.

"Keep together and keep moving towards the exit, these foes are not our mission."

His tomb guard spread out slightly to form a complete circle around Lahmizzash, and they continued on cautiously. There were half a dozen wounded ghouls hissing and growling at them from the edge of the glow-stone light, and the promise of quite a few more just out of the light- their red eyes bouncing around in the blackness. But the tomb guard seemed to have put fear into them, for they did not seem eager to attack again.

Lahmizzash's party advanced down the grand gallery for a time, keeping eyes on the circling ghouls. Simply by the distance they'd already traveled, Lahmizzash was sure they would reach the door soon- then from before them, another charge of ghouls came, adding another dozen voices to the chaos- the previously stalled ghouls rallied and attacked, too. The weight of dozens of charging ghouls overwhelmed the tomb guard and their formation fell apart- the undead, Nehekaran and feral alike, squirmed and struggled together in the flickering light.

A tomb guard grabbed Lahmizzash by the tunic and pulled him from the thick, using its other hand and sword to cleave a ghoul's head in two, but the blade stuck in the creature's clavicle. Lahmizzash drew his own blade just as two ghouls reached for him with clawing, eager hands. He turned his wrist and sliced upward at the beasts, his blade took off one of their hands- black gore gushing. It didn't deter them, and Lahmizzash fell back under their weight, hitting the stone floor with his back. He used the flat of his blade to keep the gnashing teeth inches away from his glow-stone in his left hand illuminated the beasts at close range- hideous, raging maws gnashing with black teeth.

Another tomb guard appeared above them- the biggest of the lot. It leaned down and gathered a ghoul's neck under each arm, then violently spun away, wrenching the creatures from Lahmizzash and allowing him to regain his feet. By that time he was up, the big tomb guard was already back in the main fight, sword slashing- two headless crypt ghouls were squirming on the ground nearby.

The first tomb guard had freed his blade, and now stood at the ready next to Lahmizzash- but the ghouls were clearly beaten. More than a dozen lay motionless on the floor, and the tomb guard were finishing off the wounded while keeping an eye on the rest of the retreating pack. All six of Lahmizzash's guard were still standing, though he noted some had damaged armor, and two appeared to have fresh cracks in their skulls. If that caused them any issue, Lahmizzash could not tell- they gathered around him in quick order as the last of the ghouls disappeared into the darkness, dully moaning at their defeat.

"Right, good work. Let's get out of here."


	9. 9

It took all seven of them, Lahmizzash putting his shoulder in along with his guards, to open the stone doors of the tomb. The dull blue light of pre-dawn flowed in as the door opened, just wide enough for them to squeeze through one by one. Lahmizzash took back all the glow stones and returned them to a pouch, hiding their light. He debated on whether to leave the tomb open or not- he didn't want crypt ghouls to spread to other parts of the city. But, that could be handled if it happened… would not an escape route be more desirable? No, retreat was not an option- all that he needed was through victory, and nothing lay in defeat.

Following that optimistic reasoning, Numas was as good as captured, it was King Settra's city now, and it should not be corrupted. "Let's shut the door behind us," he said.

The City of Numas, such as it was, was still a city, or at least the ruin of a city- unlike the sandy wastes of Khemri. The more rocky terrain perhaps yielded less sand to bury it, so there remained walls, statutes, and decrepit buildings in well enough form to be recognizable as the interior of a walled city. Numas' thick walls still towered over the remains of Numas, delaying dawn's light to Lahmizzash and his slinking party. The walls were famously large before King Ubaid upgraded them during his reign, and even in half-ruin, they were imposing. There were even some marks of scaffolding in the dim morning light- King Ubaid had betrayed a powerful ally and was now busily walling himself in, friendless but rich. Ever the fool, was King Ubaid.

Lahmizzash led his tomb guard through through stone-littered alleyways. He didn't dare the streets. Numas supposedly contained an army, and it would only take one soldier to see them and bring the entire plan to ruin- but he needed a place with a vista of the city. The sun was beginning to crest the walls when they reached a tall mausoleum, an elegant tower encircled by stone statues and busts of some forgotten family. More interestingly, it featured a stairway to the sarcophagus at the top of the tower, some 150 feet up. "Buried in the sky" was the style of this tomb, favored by those who believed the sun would sustain them in the sleep of death.

Lahmizzash and his party reached the solarium near the top as the sun was lifting itself clear from the horizon. The reddish color of early morning light was turning yellow-white and blazing hot, the Nehekaran day was here. It revealed the army of King Ubaid in its entirety. Humanoid figures were swarming over the northern walls of the city, like ants upon a disturbed nest. Thousands of skeletal people were busily laying stone into the damaged portions of the walls. At least two miles of wall, most of the northern half of the city defenses, was being worked simultaneously. Yet there were still more skeletons standing at the ready in idle companies in the streets. Khaid was optimistic in his estimate that Ubaid raised twice as many troops as Lahmizzash- or Ubaid had been busy since his awakening. There were four thousand down there.

Any remaining doubt or worry Lahmizzash had about his own plan vanished with the night- the path he was on was certainly the only possible means of victory. The next phase was about to begin. He glanced at his soldiers, the six of them cramped into the small solarium- made to hold at most two or three contemplative relatives. They were crouched, hiding their profiles from any watchers. There was nothing to do now but wait.

They waited silently, baking in the sun, enjoying whatever sustenance the esteemed personage in the sarcophagus was absorbing. If heat were a sensation he still felt, this would be an uncomfortable perch. Lahmizzash found that if he focused on the sun, the glare, and brought back his memories of oppressive summer days- he could start to feel it, feel the itch of his skin that always came just before the sweat oozed out. What was it that Nekthop said, so long ago but also just the other day: '..a great deal of our existence is a construct of our own making'.

Lahmizzash ruminated on that. He knew Nekthop meant that only in the sensual, but it applied to much more than simply eyesight or feeling a hot day. Why was he born to be a king, and these tomb guards to be soldiers, and everyone else to be commoners? Was it fate? Divine right, as the priests would say. Perhaps at first it was fate, when it came to just who would be born from who- but after that point, was not everything thereafter a construct? King Lahmizzash was so because the people willed it to be so, building it upon him, stacking their expectation and their acceptance of his authority like coins for him and his family to spend at will. The ability to spend it, that was what reigning was.

Woe to the ruler who forgets that all of it is really just a construct. If the people stop maintaining that construction, that sanctity of royalty: the belief in the authority of their grand hierarchy… well, it reveals itself to be a child's tower, a precarious stack of blocks- built upon sand, and each grain a person with a mind to suddenly move. Down it tumbles into dust and disarray, dead to an unruly foundation.

And it goes on, beyond also an observation of society, but of one's personal life. Lahmizzash was now seeking to reconstruct his own existence, now that he found himself suddenly thrust back into it all. That is what all people must do, was it not? Construct their lives, or at very least, construct their reality into a pleasing shape- into some facade to keep themselves going?

Well, today his own life would again take shape. It had been buried when the hourglass of his life had finally burst, sending a cascade of sand down upon him- each grain a second of his existence; many well spent, many wasted; but all of them piling up, hiding him from the rest of eternity, secreting him away in his tomb to be dead and forgotten. Well, now he was dug up, and he found himself in an endless pile of sand- an endless pile of moments- as if the hourglass of the universe had split open and all the grains of time were just laying there, ready to be made into something new. Today, his construction would begin.

The steady clatter of distant construction stopped. A muted voice echoed out over the city, someone giving an order- King Ubaid, it must be. Lahmizzash returned his attention to the walls and the land beyond it. A giant had appeared from behind a hill, an ebon, dog-headed humanoid, sparkling in the sunlight- a kingly figure stood atop its head, barely distinguishable in the distance. The army of Numas stopped to stare at this new arrival. And in those brief seconds of total stillness, the giant's eyes glowed with menacing light-

Whuuuuup!

Then erupted in a torrential stream. The beam struck the brick walls of Numas and exploded, sending a rain of stone into the sky. Lahmizzash flinched instinctually. Pellon can do that? Pellon can do that! That would have been nice to know last night!

The dim voice cried out again, shriller this time, and the undead soldiery sprang into action, abandoning tools and running for weapons. King Ubiad was rallying his defenders. Did the fool even place scouts?


	10. 10

Army banners emerged over the same hill, a number of them, and a cloud of dust and sand was billowing into the air behind them. All visible evidence of a large host arriving to do battle. The defenders of Numas were orienting themselves on the ramparts, hurriedly arranging into defensive positions. Meanwhile, the banners continued on, spreading out around the edge of the city, just the nearest ranks of armed soldiers visible over the rim of the terrain.

The morning was silent as all in Numas watched the arrival of the enemy. Lahmizzash eyed his tomb guard beside him- they seemed to be paying attention. Did they feel apprehension? Tension? Their faces were scowling and grim, but mostly from desiccation. Were Ubaid's soldiers in the city and on the wall feeling any of those emotions? There was a tension in the air, though Lahmizzash was sure that was just him projecting his own feelings on his view of the world. But he certainly hoped King Ubaid was feeling something of the same.

The uneasy peace broke with a klaxon bell from the southern walls. Lahmizzash turned in that direction. More banners of his army were on the move in the distance, marching through the rippling air burning over the rocky wasteland- a shimmering, ethereal force. That ordering voice echoed mutely again, and the forces in the streets of the city broke into a run, heading for the southern ramparts to face this new threat. Lahmizzash spun back to look for the source of the orders. How could the soldiers hear that cleary? He could not make out the words, but troops across the entire city seemed to be leaping at the sound.

Then flickering red caught his eye. Nearer to the north wall, the remains of a grain silo still stood. Atop the edifice was a humanoid figure frantically waving two red flags. Signal flags. That was the real source of information to the defenders of Numas, and the order giver's voice echoing from within. That was it. King Ubaid was there, ordering his forces to different positions on the city walls. Lahmizzash waited impatiently as companies of soldiers passed along the streets below him, on their way to the walls. Finally, the streets looked clear.

He motioned his guard to head back down the tower. "This is our chance. You heard the voice of King Ubaid? Saw the flags atop the silo? Seek him out!" The order was given, the six corpses sprang into malicious life and descended the tower at an incredible pace. Lahmizzash struggled to keep up, losing ground to them on the stairs. They reached the sandy streets and sprinted off towards the northern walls. While his dead body no longer felt fatigue nor was limited by the growth of muscle and bone- his mind certainly didn't quite remember what athleticism was. His gait was awkward, he was over-aware of his legs and arms, it didn't quite feel familiar to run. Lahmizzash slowly fell behind his guard, cursing his past idle lifestyle.

The rear guard was keeping an eye on him, that was plain. It would wait for him to get near before going around corners. When Lahmizzash reached that point, he could see the rear guard sprinting towards one of the other guards, ahead, waiting at the next corner. It was a practical system, keeping him in sight while advancing towards their goal; simultaneously accomplishing both of their objectives. Were these tomb guard really less awakened then he? Their problem solving seemed impressively effective.

They were approaching the north wall. A final ruined alley traversed, and he came upon all six of his guard waiting for him- ten dark eye sockets stared at him as he skidded to a stop, the sixth guard watched the domeish building across the street. The brickwork of the silo was failing, and a large portion was collapsed in at the top of the dome, giving it the shape of a broken egg. Two guards stood beside the doorway. Was this ignoble place really where King Ubaid was holed up, commanding the defense of his city? It was certainly a good vista for a signalman, but its interior certainly held no commanding viewpoint of the walls, or the lands outside, or even of the street outside! If King Ubaid was here, how was he getting information from the field?

Lahmizzash dismissed those mysteries for now. This was the only observable location from which issued commands, so their target must be here. How best to capture him? They were still in a city of the enemy, surrounded by thousands of foes. A quick assault was tempting, but should King Ubaid's personal guard hold out for even a short time… they wouldn't have a chance once reinforcements arrived. They needed to get to King Ubaid with no chance of his reaction.

How to accomplish this? The street was wide and open, so once they approached the building, they were sure to be spotted. So sneaking was impossible. Lahmizzash regarded his tomb guard, his mind wheeling- they did not have the luxury of time. His men were dusty cadavers with the gear of soldiers… and all dusty cadavers look somewhat the same… so it follows that their gear is what identifies them. Perhaps disguise would work.

"Four of you, strip off your gear, and give your weapons to your fellows."

Ubaid's two silo guards turned to regard them as they entered the street. Lahmizzash was in the lead, wearing sparse cloth, hopefully, to indicate some form of low rank. Four of his tomb guard followed, naked and without weapons- hopefully appearing mindless laborers. With nothing to identify them, Lahmizzash gambled all in the hope they would appear a stray band of workers, perhaps with a message for the King. The guards watched them intently, focused with an eerie concentration, but they did not react in a hostile manner as Lahmizzash's party closed the gap.

He'd never heard one of the awakened soldiers talk to one another, so he resolved to keep silent and stride past the guard as if he was supposed to be there. The guards were close now, their dark holes of eyes seeming to bore into him. He was an easy sword strike away, they could realize the ruse at any moment. Lahmizzash forced down his nerves and strode confidently on. He was past them. So was his guard. They were all in the entrance of the silo- a small antechamber that was likely once the front office for the ledgers and the bills of sale for grain. The storage and shipping areas would be further in.

Lahmizzash's two rearguards turned, grabbed Ubaid's guards by the heads and yanked them inside. He watched uneasily as they efficiently ripped the heads from their captives, ceasing the struggles of the bodies. The heads were tossed aside and his guards set to stripping the equipment and donning it themselves. Lahmizzash eyed the two discarded skulls. Their eyes seemed to stare at him; accusingly, mournfully. Were they alive? Could they still see him? Were they realizing their inanimate fate? Lahmizzash's growing dread was dispelled by the remaining tomb guard arriving, carrying the weaponry and equipment of the other four. In moments, everyone was re-equipped, two of Lahmizzash's guard now in the gear of King Ubaid's men- and Lahmizzash himself in the rear as the party of seven moved deeper into the building.

The immediate hallway was empty, but Lahmizzash's disguised guard took the left turn without hesitation. Once in the passage, he could hear a muted voice. It grew in strength as they moved towards the next turn.

"Move the archers towards east tower two!," it was saying, "No. no, nevermind! To east tower one! Spears to east tower two! The enemy heavy infantry is going to try and climb there. No. No. They are moving again. Oh, the north wall! Spears to north tower one! Spears to north tower one!"

Lahmizzash's party entered into the large ruin of the main silo. Sunlight bathed the center of the space, pouring through the ruined ceiling. In its center (under a tattered umbrella, of all things) was the impromptu throne of King Ubaid. The man himself was holding some sort of stone to his eyes, turning this way and that in his seat, shouting orders. From atop the silo came the loud flap of actively snapped canvas. Those were the signal flags. But what was Ubaid using to see? What was that stone?

There were four guards in the room, but while they did not react at the entrance of Lahmizzash's disguised guard, they drew their weapons when the others entered behind them, still adorned in House Yak'reb's regalia. But it was too late, the first two of Lahmizzash's men were upon the nearest guards- one went down immediately, Lahmizzash's biggest tomb guard cleaving the enemy's skull. The other defender managed to block the initial attack- the clang of weaponry gained King Ubaid's attention.

"What was that? What are you idiots doing? Now is not the time to fight amongst each other!" shouted King Ubaid. The man didn't even realize when he was under attack!

Lahmizzash guard quickly dispatched the other three guardsmen, and by then, it was obvious even to King Ubaid that these were assassins, not disobedient troops. His head swiveled between Lahmizzash and his advancing men, his decayed chin gaping in surprise and dismay.

"Help!" he shouted, "Send reinforcements! Send them to-"

Lahmizzash set his sword to Ubaid's bony neck. "No more orders, except the ones I tell you to give."

"Lahmizzash?!"

"Hello, old friend. These are strange times, are they not?"


	11. 11

Ubaid's face struggled to regain control of his expression, mostly failing. He burbled out the beginnings of several different sentences, stopping himself in the middle of the first syllable. Finally, he managed to get something out:

"King Lahmizzash, he awakened you?!" he wheezed, shaking from the effort.

As satisfying as it was to watch this kaleidoscope of emotions on the face of his old political foe, Lahmizzash did not have time to bask in the moment. He was still in the middle of a enemy stronghold, and his vastly outnumbered forces could not uphold their ruse much longer. They had the brain of Numas in their control, but if Ubaid realized he still held power in the situation, he may take a bold step. Lahmizzash never associated the man with bold anything, but he'd rebelled against King Settra. That was bold, to be sure- so best not to take any chances with this undead Ubaid.

"By he, I presume King Settra? Yes, he did. I am his vassal, and now, so are you. Order your forces to stand down. Open the gates."

"He'll kill me!"

"I'll kill you!" Lahmizzash pressed his sword into Ubaid's dessicated neck. He felt a lifetime of anger and frustration at this man well up in him. Lahmizzash felt his face stiffen, his jaw tighten, his vision tunneled in on the fearful face of King Ubaid. His anger took free reign. "Though we are both already dead, I'll kill you. And then i'll kill you again! I'll cut off your arms! Your legs! Set you in the sun for the birds! Wrap you in chains and throw you in the sea! Hang you by the neck! Until pain and misery is all you can remember!"

Lahmizzash's vision broadened as the pent-up fury left him. That felt good. Really good. After all, the politics of Nehekara were as dead as the people. He didn't have to restrain himself for public opinion. He had no advisors or counselors to consider. No local aristocracy who may start trouble. There was only power. And Lahmizzash, by way of King Settra, had all of it. "Give the order!" he shouted, "Stand down! Open the gates!" He pushed the blade again, it sank an inch into Ubaid's neck.

"Yes! Yes! I will!" he croaked.

Lahmizzash withdrew the blade slightly, enough to allow Ubaid to raise his instinctual hand to protect the new wound. Another proof that, though the Nehekarans were all the living dead, their minds still possessed the instincts of the living. Ubaid visibly gathered himself, glanced upward at Lahmizzash's face with a look of hatred and fear- then, resignation. "All soldiers shall drop their weapons! Surrender!", shouted King Ubaid, "Open the gates!"

The seemingly oblivious. or perhaps single-minded, signaler started flicking the flags above them. The canvas snaps were loud in the tense chamber below the silo, but they were the sounds of victory and sweet to the ear. Lahmizzash held out of his left hand for the stone King Ubaid still clutched. Wordlessly, Ubaid placed it into his palm.

"Someone take my place guarding our prisoner," said Lahmizzash. A tomb guard came forward and placed its own sword at the neck of King Ubaid. Allowing Lahmizzash to sheath his own weapon and examine Ubaid's stone. "What is this thing?"

King Ubaid remained silent in petulant defiance. This was the Ubaid which Lahmizzash remembered- stubborn and intractable on the small details out of spite, regardless of the situation. He stared at the man, arching one of his brows. Ubaid got the message.

"It is a seeing stone," said Ubaid, "If you look through it, you can see through the eyes of another creature."

This was how Ubaid was getting intelligence from the field! "From anyone's eyes?"

"No. It is linked to a specific creature. The cult made it and linked it to a condor, which flies high above the city as we speak."

Lahmizzash raised the stone to his eyes and he could see the city of Numas stretched out before him. In wonder he clutched the stone in both hands and pressed it against his head until the image inside filled his own vision. He was soaring above the ruined city, the rocky desert of this region stretching out in all directions- to the mountains in the east, and into the rolling sands to the west towards Khemri. Lahmizzash's stomach roiled as the image turned slightly, he stumbled, off balance, his mind fooled by the image in the stone. It was the condor, the bird was banking high above- a long, lazy right turn.

The immediate wonder of the experience faded. Lahmizzash turned his attention to the critical information on the battlefield. He could see the army of Numas arrayed over most of the city walls, in opposition to the threatening soldiers outside. If Khant followed the plan properly, half of his men should be on the north side of the city, and the other half to the south. The key maneuver of the plan had been marked by the warning bell which lured off the soldiers in the reserves to the south wall, allowing Lahmizzash and his strike team to capture Ubaid.

However, the city of Numas was completely surrounded by a huge army. Thousands of soldiers were standing about the city walls at a respectful distance, arranged in the orderly rows and columns of a disciplined fighting force. Though most of the army looked like ants from his perspective, Lahmizzash could easily spot more monstrous figures, including three hierotitans! It was King Settra! It must be. The King of Kings had arrived with his own forces to reinforce Lahmizzash's attack. So King Settra had not intended him to be wiped out! The order for Lahmizzash to attack a superior enemy was revealed as a test of obedience, not a convoluted plot to destroy Lahmizzash and Ubaid in one fell swoop. Relief flooded through Lahmizash, washing away a tension and a worry that he was mostly unconscious of, but now that it was gone- my, it was a good day!

He lowered the stone, returning himself to the grain silo. King Ubaid was watching him sadly, knowing that anything which made Lahmizzash pleased was likely bad for himself. His tomb guard stood about, still at the ready, next to the fallen bodies of King Ubaid's personal guard. All eye sockets were on him.

"All of you, guard King Ubaid. I will go meet King Settra. I will not need a guard." He turned to leave the silo. "If our prisoner attempts to give any orders to his soldiers, destroy his body."

He strode out of the building, heading for the main northern gate that was nearest the silo. He heard following footsteps. Two of his tomb guard were following him closely. They were being deliberately disobedient! Still, it was a fool who interfered with their own bodyguard. Lahmizzash said nothing and continued on towards the gate with his two shadows. In all their efforts this last night and morning, it was clear his soldiers were much more than mindless automatons which Nekthop described. It was not readily apparent, but Lahmizzash was more than sure that something more was going on under the silent faces of his tomb guard, and perhaps all his soldiers.

They rounded a final alleyway and found the enormous gate open before them. A company of Ubaid's soldiers stood nearby, but their weapons were on the ground and while their heads turned as one (creepy!) to look at Lahmizzash, they took no action as he strode by and out of the gates. It was like stepping into another world- the ruined streets and alleys of Numas felt like Nehekara was much closer than it was, like it was only recently in ruin- but stepping back out… he was again amidst the sand and sun-baked rock of a desolate wasteland wherein once verdant, irrigated fields thrived in the heat. The Nehekara of Lahmizzash's memory again felt incredibly distant.

The besieging army was stretched out a healthy half-mile from the walls, but as Lahmizzash exited the city, a few companies began marching in his direction. Two groups of soldiers were led by an enormous chariot- it was pulled by.. four horses? Or rather, the skeletons of horses! Even the livestock of Nehekara suffered the same curse of undeath!

The unmistakable figure of King Settra stood menacingly atop the chariot, towering over the diminutive driver. Next to King Settra stood Lahmizzash's guard, still wearing the armor of House Ack'herb and holding the skull-staff which was Khant, the disembodied head of a cultist and until now, the de-facto general of Lahmizzash's army. Lahmizzash did not approve of Khant giving up his spot on his hierotitan's shoulder to be at the mercy of King Settra's sword arm- but Khant was not a military mind, and was oblivious to Lahmizzash's past worries over the power relationship between himself and King Settra. Besides, it was done, and victory had changed everything.

"King Settra!" shouted Lahmizzash when the chariot neared. "I am pleased to welcome you to your city!"


	12. 12

"What is your situation in the city?" asked King Settra, his voice rough with fierce urgency.

"Four of my guard hold King Ubaid. He ordered his army to drop their weapons. Under threat of death, Ubaid remains silent."

"Four men!" Settra turned back towards his waiting army and raised his iconic curved blade. He gestured towards the city. A large section of the waiting companies began advancing towards Numas. Lahmizzash turned and saw other sections of Settra's forces move towards the open gates on the other walls of the city. Settra must command his army with pre-arranged signals. The order given, King Settra returned his attention to Lahmizzash, his face iron set in that dangerous, doubting grimace that Lahmizzash remembered from their first meeting. He put himself on guard.

"Lord Lahmizzash, I arrived this morning unsurprised. Your soldiers were marching about the city walls, giving the impression of an attack but not attacking. I assumed you were making a show of it, because you sniffed out my loyalty test and expected the arrival of reinforcements. I expected as much. However, when I summoned you to my presence, the surprises began. This guard dressed in your clothing was a surprise, and this acolyte's head was another. And then.. the skull told me of your plan. Out of wonderment, I decided to hold my army at bay, though a weaker enemy lay before it, and see what would happen. Within hours, you walk out of the city with two bodyguards and say the city is mine."

"Your will was to subdue King Ubaid and capture the city. So I saw it done," said Lahmizzash.

"Indeed? I shall wait and see." said King Settra, his tone shifting abruptly cold. He glanced at the the guard in Lahmizzash's clothing, holding the Khant staff. "You two, get off my chariot. Rejoin your lord."

Lahmizzash's disguised guard stepped off the chariot and walked around to stand next to Lahmizzash. The two companies of King Settra's soldiers closed in on them, though none of them drew weapons. Khant, the cultist head on Lahmizzash's staff, was uncharacteristically quiet. A cloud of tension settled on them all. They stood silently, Lahmizzash and Settra staring into each other's eye-sockets, both with grim looks.

King Settra thought this was a trap, that much was plain. Lahmizzash could see all the possibilities that King Settra was likely considering at this very moment. A new friend exits from an enemy city and invites him to come on inside: Its fine! Everything is exactly like you want! King Settra was likely thinking he would enter Numas and the city gates would close behind him. Or a portion of his soldiers would suffer the same fate, helping the defenders even the odds. He was thinking Lahmizzash and Ubaid were likely allies. They were from the same time period, after all. But he was also hoping that was not the case. Taking a defended city without casualties was every general's dream. King Settra wanted it to be true, so did not immediately cut down Lahmizzash and his men. He would be patient and verify what was going on.

Lahmizzash glanced over to where the hierotitans stood, three of them, a long way off on the other side of the army. Pellon's unique jackal-headed design was obvious, and the two more traditional skull-headed hierotitans of Settra's were on either side. Lahmizzash's most powerful ally was under close watch, practically a prisoner already. King Settra was taking no chances. Settra had also revealed that his ordering of Lahmizzash to take Numas with an inferior force was a loyalty test, but that he knew that Lahmizzash knew that. So King Settra seemed to be saying that he was prepared for either outcome.

It wasn't exactly a layered plot. It was not some intricate plan of subterfuge by King Settra- it was an expert consideration of all possibilities and the deployment of enough force to handle any outcome. Overwhelming force applied at the right place and right time. This was how King Settra gained his undefeated reputation. He would move his pieces, watch you move yours, and at need, flip the table on the whole affair and come out the victor.

If Lahmizzash attacked Ubaid and lost most or all of his forces, Settra would arrive and defeat Numas anyway. If Lahmizzash waited for reinforcements, then Settra would arrive and crush Numas a bit easier with Lahmizzash's help. If Lahmizzash joined Ubaid's rebellion, Settra would arrive and defeat them both. Simple and effective. The political manipulation was just to get Lahmizzash into the equation, and so make the inevitable victory even more valuable- an ally gained, or another potential rival destroyed.

Lahmizzash looked back at King Settra- the man was standing easily, hand on sword hilt, gazing towards the distant walls of Numas- his troops were nearly inside. This was a man that did not simply plan to create a victory, but actively plotted to enrich victories which were already assured. Lahmizzash resolved to follow that example in the future.

However, since this was not a trap, and Ubaid was unlikely to commit suicide and challenge Lahmizzash's guards- Lahmizzash broke free from the cloud of tension and began to enjoy that feeling of relaxation and satisfaction following a victory. He focused his mind on the wind and the sun, and began to fool himself into feeling it. It was a nice day. He turned to Khant and the disguised guard.

"Excellent work, Khant. You executed the plan perfectly. And to you, guardsman- your visibility sold the ruse."

Khant murmured an almost inaudible thanks- he was still intimidated by King Settra's suspicion. The guardsman could not speak, and did not show any reaction. "Let us trade clothing once more." So Lord Lahmizzash Yak'reb and one of his personal guards stripped naked in front of King Settra during the final moments of the siege of Numas- then calmly traded clothing items. Their decayed and mummified forms did not maintain much in the way of sexual identification, but the act still added a degree of the ridiculous to the situation. Two naked mummies, watched by two companies of armored mummy soldiers and their mummy king on a chariot, exchanging clothing and then unglamorously getting dressed again under the open sky- Lahmizzash shaking sand from certain items, bending over to pick up something dropped, hopping awkwardly to maintain balance as he slid on the leggings.

King Settra watched the transfer in silence, his fingers tapping on the hilt of his sword the only indication of his annoyance. Still, Settra did seem to relax slightly- these were not the actions of a traitor on the cusp of betrayal. He did not drop his guard, however, and continued to watch his army file into Numas, and his soldiers maintained their proximity and intense concentration on Lahmizzash and his three guards.

Lahmizzash considered advising Settra of the captured skaven- oh! They sealed him in and those guardsmen in the tomb with the crypt ghouls! Those soldiers needed relief, assuming they were still… alive? That was an immediate priority. However, King Settra would not be receptive to any suggestions until he was satisfied, so it would have to wait for now. In a similar vein, Lahmizzash doubted King Settra would retain any new information offered at this moment, so instead, he lifted his staff to bring Khant to his own eye-level.

"You had no problems commanding the soldiers?" he asked.

"No, Lord Yak'reb. The order you gave them, to follow my orders, worked as you believed. They obeyed any request without delay. It was easy to set your plan into motion."

"What about that eye energy from Pellon? I didn't know he could do that. How did you?"

"The Mortuary Cult built him and others like him. I'm aware of their capabilities. Though I didn't tell him to do that."

"No?"

"No, he did it on his own. I think he recognized the purpose of your orders and acted on initiative. I've not heard of a hierotitan doing such a thing before."

"Interesting. What about tomb guardsmen? Are they known to act on initiative?" Lahmizzash was thinking of the excellent performance of his guards in the tomb and in the capture of Ubaid. Also those two, still with him now, which ignored his orders to remain with Ubaid in favor of guarding Lahmizzash's person.

"No, I've not heard nor seen examples of that, either. Did something happen in the city?"

Lahmizzash recounted the actions of his tomb guard.

"Amazing," said Khant, "This is interesting. Very interesting! The implications are exciting for our efforts to understand our state of undeath! Maybe this will help improve the awakening process, and improve the capacities of all of us! I want to study your guards and refer to some literature!"

Khant was returning to his loquacious self, so Lahmizzash succeeded in relaxing him, at least.

"Learning," said King Settra.

Khant went silent, and Lahmizzash turned both of them to face Settra, standing regally atop his chariot, raiment blowing lightly in the desert wind.

"You are seeing them learn," Settra continued. "When soldiers and servants are awakened, they are somewhat…" King Settra searched for a word for a moment, "… blank. They are blank, like a cleaned slate. Yet they had life, knowledge, skills, spirit before- so they are like a very used slate, and what they used to be is worn into them like an invisible record of the writing that used to be there. As they experience life again, these new experiences are like the broad strokes of chalk, filling in the grooves until you can see what the picture used to be before. Not as clear as it was originally, but most of it is there."

Lahmizzash regarded King Settra with new respect. It made perfect sense, and rang with a satisfying truth. This was the first time he'd heard Settra's philosophical side reveal itself, like a calm, warm ember amidst the roaring flame of his ambition and authority. Lahmizzash glanced towards the city. Atop the walls a soldier was holding a banner of Settra's colors, the turquoise and gold of Settra's Khemri. The city was safe and what apprehension and suspicions Settra had held must have vanished in the same wind which now buffeted his own banner atop the walls of conquered Numas.

"That is what is happening to your guards and your hierotitan, Lord Yak'reb. They are learning. I've seen it in my own troops. The more you use them, the more new experiences they gain, the more pronounced will be its effect. They become stronger, smarter, and more skilled- Though they never seem to become like us: fully awake."

Lahmizzash and Khant stared at him, neither finding words for a meaningful response.

"Join me," said King Settra to Lahmizzash, indicating a place next to him on his chariot. "Let us visit our mutual friend, King Ubaid of Numas."


	13. 13

_From the Tomb of Lahmizzash Yak'reb, East Wall, Burial Chamber, Section 11D_

 _"King Lahmizzash and his allies breached the foul tomb of x-x-x-x, sealed within the great blasphemy. They sought to bring out x-x-x-x and execute him along with his subordinates. Alas, when the sarcophagus was opened, a swarm of foul beetles was all that was inside. x-x-x-x was nowhere to be found. Furious, King Lahmizzash summoned his best hunters and trackers and said unto them: 'Seek x-x-x-x; murderer, betrayer, bane of Nehekara. Bring him here or bring proof of his death. This is my last order to you, for this task shall complete your careers or occupy you until death.'"_

The main avenue of Numas was lined with the forward troops of King Settra's army. They stood at crisp attention while Lahmizzash and Settra passed in Setta's grand chariot. The company of Ubaid's soldiers were not to be seen, nor were any remaining on the walls. King Settra took no chances- no enemy soldier was to have any possible chance at his person. Lahmizzash understood that paranoia, but found it to be limiting, as a king who only entered perfectly safe situations was a prisoner of his own title. Yet he was not about to tell King Settra his views in regards to that.

The chariot came to a rumbling stop outside the grain silo which so recently became the prison of King Ubaid of Numas. King Settra's soldiers were swarming the area- hundreds of tomb guard stood about, clad in the teal of Settra's house. Their weapons at the ready. King Settra indicated that Lahmizzash should dismount ahead of him, and so he did, turning his back to King Settra and stepping off first. Settra followed, obviously not fully trusting Lahmizzash in this situation, even now.

Lahmizzash lead the way into silo, and found the little office and the hallways also filled with Settra's soldiers. The storage room was no different, except the four guardsmen in House Yak'reb's blue and gold standing close around the seated Ubaid, their blades at Ubaid's throat, unwilling to surrender their prisoner to Settra's soldiers.

King Settra let out a barely audible sigh of satisfaction, then strode ahead of Lahmizzash towards Ubaid. The last drippings of suspicion finally leaving King Settra, allowing his back to face Lahmizzash in genuine confidence. As Settra neared Ubaid, Lahmizzash motioned for his soldiers to give way- they did so.

Ubaid shrank from his impromptu throne and slid to his knees on the ground as King Settra approached. "Glorious King Settra, please understand- I- I- was not standing against you, but gathering more soldiers to better serve you! I didn't intend to resist your command, but- it was Lahmizzash! I didn't know his soldiers were yours! I was defending your city against-"

King Settra moved like a snake- his sword sung from its scabbard and whispered through the still air. King Ubaid's severed head popped upwards like a child's ball, then rolled to a quick stop in the sand on the floor. Ubaid's face held a look of shock and terror for a moment, then he began emitting ear-jarring screeches.

"Yes, I remember what that moment is like," said Khant from atop Lahmizzash's staff.

King Settra picked up Ubaid's screaming head like a melon at the market. "SILENCE!" he yelled, but Ubaid was beyond sanity at the moment- his screaming got louder. In disgust, King Settra tossed the screaming head to one of his soldiers. "Get it out of here! Bury him in the sand until he stops screaming, then bring him back to me!" The soldier quickly exited the room. The screaming head could be heard even as the soldier carried it down the street outside.

King Settra stuck a foot under the limp body of Ubaid and kicked it aside. He glanced up at the umbrella which shaded Ubaid's seat, sneered in disgust, then tore it down with his bare hands. The Nehekaran sun blazed down upon King Settra, his golden sphinx crown gleaming with his armor. He turned and sat in Ubaid's former throne, immediately taking on a regal air- he looked extremely satisfied. Lahmizzash knew that feeling; the success of a campaign, the end of a constant worry, the realization of the additional power and safety that a new subservient throne provided.

"Tell me now; of the other details of your venture last night. Tell me of this rat man and his tunnels."

"Certainly, my King. However, please first allow my guard to lead a company of your men to the tomb we utilized to enter the city. Four of my men remained below to keep the skaven prisoner, and it is infested with ghouls."

"Those pests! They will outlive us all." Settra pointed at one of his guard. "You, take two companies and go to this tomb. Cleanse it, find the opening underground, and secure it. Do so until I order otherwise."

The indicated guard saluted and exited the silo at a fast pace. Lahmizzash turned to his own guard whom were standing near the rear wall of the room. He inclined his head and two of the soldiers moved off, too. After their exit, the room became silent. Lahmizzash stood respectfully in the center as King Settra gazed at him with a sort of benign curiosity.

"You meant it all, didn't you?" said the King of Kings, "All that rubbish about 'allowing yourself to serve me'- it was not rubbish at all. I see it now. I did not believe it- but here I sit in Numas, and you delivered it to me, as I asked. You are a true believer in the mythos my Mortuary Cult weaved for me. Yet you know I am just a man. I know you do. You are not dazzled by that propaganda. So… why? Why not seek the crown of Khemri, as is your right?"

"You built our civilization- I was but a steward. Yes, you were but a man, like me, but we both desire a strong Nehekara. It seems that will require the sword, and that is certainly your specialty over mine. I do not wish to deny all power, but all that I need and desire can be attained in service to you, King Settra. You will not serve, but I am more flexible."

King Settra and Lord Lahmizzash shared a long, appraising gaze- each with their tapestries of title, culture, and history flung away in the sight of the other: two old men, ironically youthful again in undeath, accustomed to power, burdened by the endless labor that leading a kingdom requires. In that brief moment, they were not kings, lords, monsters- but two souls of similar experience, two ordinary people dressed up, like all the world were a piece of theatre, and only they two could see it. They saw each other and laughed, briefly, together- then the spell was broken.

"You will be King of Numas," said King Settra, "I need to take the city of Zandri and the shipyards there. It takes too cursed long to walk everywhere. Meanwhile, you will solidify this city in my Name."

Lahmizzash nodded. "As you wish, but may I ask, I wish to see to my family still buried in my tomb."

"Yes, yes, Nekthop was quite angry with you, but his acolytes are doing as you ask. Zandri is currently held by some northerners- I understand it to be a token force and they are unfit for life in Nehekara as it is now. I will return, victorious, to Khemri in two months. When you are done here, do as you see fit with the rest of that time, but be in Khemri when I return."

"Yes, my king," said Lahmizzash.

"That reminds me: Nekthop and his cultists are very interested in the Erased Name. Perhaps here in Numas or your tomb, you can find more information for them. They are insistent that it is important."

Lahmizzash vaguely remembered King Settra saying something about an "erased name" when they first met, but it had been meaningless then, as well. "The Erased Name?"

"A scratched-out name, a person, or persons, erased from Nehekaran history. You will see it if you look for it- all the carvings and histories of a certain period have names eliminated from them. Judging by how often these vandalisms appear, this person or whomever was important enough to be mentioned in tombs and scrolls across Khemri- if so there, likely here in Numas, too. In fact, your lifespan falls within that time period of edited history. Do you remember anyone who sinned so much as to be erased?"

To be erased from history? Lahmizzash was astonished that such a thing would even be attempted. "I do not, and I'm amazed that such a thing would be undertaken."

King Settra grunted. "It is a scholarly sort of vengeance, to be sure. I fail to see the point. Regardless, if you come across any information... the Cult seems to think it might be important."

"I will do so immediately."

"Good." said King Settra.


	14. 14

"For tonight-" King Settra's attention turned to the rear of the room. Lahmizzash turned to see a guard giving hand signals. "Ah, Lord Lahmizzash, stand here." He indicated a spot just beside and behind his char on the right- an obvious place of influence, power, and trust. Lahmizzash took up his position, and in moments, two new figures appeared from the granary's hallway. Each of them appeared to be male, though undeath made gender somewhat difficult to tell at a glance- they were the same height, and royally dressed and armored. Their armor, and the clothing which poured out from its gaps, was all in Settra's turquoise.

They neared the throne and kneeled before the seated King Settra.

"Rise, Lord Rakir. Lord Rakar. Deliver your reports."

Both did so, and stared at Lahmizzash- staring with a degree of indignation that was evident even in their eyeless faces, wrinkled and worn by death.

"Report!" barked King Settra.

Both men jumped in surprise and then the one on the left bowed hastily. "My King, the west of the city is empty of the traitor's soldiers. They are gathered outside the northern gate, under guard, as you ordered."

The other man bowed. "My Great King, my report is the same for the east of the city. However, I accomplished it much faster than Lord Rakar."

"That's a lie!" hissed the first man, obviously Lord Rakar.

"I do not lie! Your authority is weak." hissed the second back, presumably Lord Rakir.

"Silence," said King Settra, in a lazy sort of way. By the tone, Lahmizzash presumed this sort of competitive banter was a common occurrence between these two lords. "Maintain the guard as I ordered, and in the meantime, both of you shall go to the palace of this city and prepare it for my arrival. See to it that it is ready to host a banquet."

A banquet? Lahmizzash wondered at that. He was certainly not hungry, though he had not eaten since he was awakened. He'd assumed food was not within his personal needs any longer, being dead and all. But Settra was awakened some time before him, and presumably, so were these two lords. Did they feel hunger? Perhaps not. Judging by the plain surprise on the faces of both Lord Rakir and Lord Rakar, they were similarly mystified by King Settra's order.

Obvious questions were forming on Rakir and Rakar's lips, but King Settra raised his hand, palm outward. "I will personally see to the meal. Just do as I say and prepare the venue."

The two lords bowed, satisfied. They then began staring at Lahmizzash again.

"Ah, let me introduce you, Lord Lahmizzash" said King Settra, "These are two of my loyal captains, the Lords Rakir and Rakar Ahmazid. Their house is an offshoot of my own. They are my nephews, several degrees removed, from quite a few generations after my own death. You may know of them, as they became somewhat famous in Nehekaran history, as I now understand."

Lahmizzash searched his memory and found them. Two brother princes who, on the night of their father's death, assassinated each other in an attempt to secure power over their family's assets. Their sister inherited. The event was a sort of fable, advising Nehekarans that either greed will destroy them, or that greed will turn anyone into a traitor- depending on one's point of view.

Settra continued: "My Lords, this is Lord Lahmizzash Yak'reb, formerly of Khemri, now King of Numas by my decree. When he speaks, I speak through him. Let it be known to you and to all."

The two lord's mouths dropped open in unison. They looked at each other. Looked back. Lahmizzash, King Settra, the two assassinated princes, and all the surrounding guards stood silently for a long moment. King Settra was enjoying himself a little.

"Now go! Carry out my orders," he said. The two lords turned and left the room. They waited until they were almost around the corner in the hall before one shoved the other and they jostled for precedence before exiting from Lahmizzash's view.

"Fools," said King Settra "but not foolish in all things. Their competitive natures are sometimes amusing, sometimes obnoxious- but they drive each other to improved performance in their duties. That is their value. Should you ever find them under your direct command: utilize them to command loyal and obedient soldiers, set them to similar tasks so they will try to outperform each other. But do not trust them with anything that may require finesse."

"I will keep your advice foremost in my mind. They are going on your campaign then?"

King Settra stood, put his hands on his hips, and arched his back in a weary stretch- a thoroughly human movement that must be instinctual to the man. He turned to Lahmizzash. "Yes, they are able commanders in the field- if they have simple orders to follow. They would be a hindrance to you here, as much of your task will be administrative. I doubt either of those two could even spell the word." He paused, seemed to reconsider himself.

"Come!" said King Settra, formal and cold again, his body stiff with authority. "Ubaid has had enough time to calm himself and consider his fate." He strode from his impromptu throne and Lahmizzash followed closely behind, again the subordinate.

Lahmizzash felt off balance, wondering at King Settra's vacillations in speech to him. Just then, he was almost like a teacher, then the ruler mask was put back on. It had happened outside the city, too- when Settra had explained the change in behavior in Lahmizzash's guards. In one moment, it seemed Settra was regarding him as a someone close, like a confidant or life-long retainer- and then he would abruptly switch back to the same cold King Settra which first greeted Lahmizzash under the White Pyramid. Perhaps King Settra was himself off-balance- as stricken as Lahmizzash by that recent moment when they saw one another, really _saw_ each other.

Perhaps it was like himself. He knew King Settra is a dangerous man, one that would try and destroy him should there be a perceived need to do so. But after that moment they shared, with the veils dropped- he did not feel fear or apprehension around Settra any longer. Then his conscious mind would remind him that this was a mistake and he needed to be careful. Never assume. This could all be temporary. Settra's changing mood was evidence of that possibility. But Lahmizzash thought maybe it was because King Settra was experiencing the same inner-conflict about Lahmizzash. It was difficult for rulers to trust, but perhaps, they were each fighting against their feelings they could trust the other.


	15. 15

King Settra, with Lahmizzash close behind, re-entered the orangeing light of late day. Several dozen guards crowded the narrow street around Settra's massive chariot. All of them, and the horse skeletons, too, stood eerily still and silent. Twenty or so guards from inside the silo poured out, the five in Yak'reb's regalia of blue and gold quickly found their way to his vicinity- a small pocket of blue in the green sea of Settra's men.

Lahmizzash followed Settra onto the chariot. The driver was still there, reigns in hand- doubtful he even moved an inch since they disembarked. A guard for each of them climbed on behind them.

"Bring Ubaid to the north gatehouse." Settra told his guards. "Go," and the charioteer started off with a mechanical jerk.

Unnoticed before, Lahmizzash's ear focused on the sound of the horse hoofs as they echoed about the city ruins. Something about it was… off. He was unsure if it was the cadence, or perhaps the lack of fleshy weight above each falling step, but it did not sound quite like the chariots of his memory. Similar, but weirdly dissimilar, too. This feeling was evoked in the sights of Numas around them- a once noisy metropolis reduced to derelict, silent doorways. From Lahmizzash's perspective, well, he'd only just been in Numas a few months before his death- way back in that forgotten time.

The sounds, the sights, the oppressive nature of the empty city weighed down upon Lahmizzash- he felt again the despair of that first morning: the hopelessness and futility. It fell upon him like a fog which seemed to swirl invisibly through the ruined streets, in and out of every hole in the wall and every darkened doorway. He tried to conjure for himself the sound of a busy city- to console himself with what should be: he focused on the dull mumble of conversation, the racket of turning wheels, hawkers advertising their goods- but it did not come to him. The quiet wind, the eerie clacks of Settra's undead horses, the grinding chariot wheels- none of these sounds gave way to the reality Lahmizzash was attempting to remember.

"I will bring them back," said King Settra.

Lahmizzash blinked, then glanced at Settra. Settra's golden crown was shining richly, intermittently, as the chariot passed between sunlight and shadows cast by the city. King Settra was gazing at the ruins as they passed. "The streets will echo with voices again," he said, turning to look at Lahmizzash. "I've said it. It shall be."

Settra's words sang through Lahmizzash, a warm tone of hope welling in him like a struck tuning fork. It was as in his dream, the golden King Settra, shining in the dark like a sunrise, burning away the swirling fog of despair. Lahmizzash was familiar with political promises and pandering to the allies, but this didn't feel like that. They would do this thing- they would restore real life to Nehekara. This halfway state of unlife would not last for eternity. It could not. It must not.

Perhaps similarly inspired, Kahnt said, "It can be done."

He had Settra's immediate attention. "How?"

"Ah," said Khant, perhaps hesitating in the realization he was now directly talking with King Settra, but he plowed onward, "The Cult was most extravagant for the extravagant spenders, but they did not ignore the masses. Though the commoners did not have much to pay the Cult, the Elders recognized that there were a great many of them, and through volume, a great amount of revenue could be raised from those of minor means."

Lahmizzash nodded in understanding. The primary purpose of organized religion is fundraising, after all. "The Mortuary Houses," he said, "uncountable numbers of people must be interred all over Nehekara."

"Oh my, yes," said Khant, somewhat patronizingly, "the Cult's records are not entirely accurate, due to the passage of time, but the Elders teach us there is at least two-thousand-million or more."

"All Nehekarans from all times?" asked Settra.

"Uh, in effect, but not everyone was buried in the Mortuary Houses, King Settra, Lord Yak'reb. And the ceremony was was not always performed properly, I'm sorry to say."

"Ceremony?" asked Lahmizzash, "The Cult performed a ceremony for every single person who died?"

"Of course," said Khant, indignantly, "Do you think the people would settle for oblivion when the nobility is preparing for their eternal lives?" His voice then became sheepish, likely remembering he was not talking to his social equals. "The Cult served them all, and prepared them to wait in the Realm of Souls."

Lahmizzash frowned and himself felt quite sheepish. He realized he'd never considered the metaphysical beliefs of his people. Instead, he ignorantly assumed that commoners lived and died, but lived on through their children who would take up the family trade. Satisfied with death? Satisfied with turning into nothing? Lahmizzash felt a wave of guilt go through him. He felt ashamed for never having thought of it before.

"The Cult can awaken them?" asked Settra, "So far, only nobles and their soldiers have awakened, either of their own accord or because of the Cult's specific efforts. If commoners could be awakened, I would have seen masses of awakened citizens already, surely."

"King Settra, Lord Lahmizzash: Please consider I am theorizing, but I believe the answer is in the purpose of each tomb. The tombs of lords were created to seal and preserve- keeping the soul nearby to await the Golden Kingdom. But keeping a soul is… difficult. Souls, if left to their own devices, will… go- somewhere- we call it the Realm of Souls, but we have little understanding of what the place is and we do not lightly interfere with it."

"A peaceful ant may be accidentally crushed, but a biting ant will be stomped upon," said Lahmizzash, offering an old fable.

"Indeed, my lord. And gods have big feet."

"Spare me the philosophy!" said Settra, "How will it be done?"

"It may- it could be done, King Settra, because the mortuary houses were only to store bodies respectfully. The ceremony performed was designed to speed a soul along on its journey to the Realm of Souls- so they are not kept nearby or bound. Perhaps that is why they did not awaken as did some of us with more advanced forms of entombment. But just the same- I think the souls can be recalled. We can return them to their bodies!"

"Necromancy!" said Lahmizzash, disgusted.

"Ye- yes, I suppose it is in spirit," said Khant, "but we would be recalling the souls to their own bodies- to animate them and to do with them as they wished. They would have their own wills, as they did in life. That's not exactly the same as reanimating a corpse to do one's bidding. My suggestion is closer to… ah... bringing them home,"

"Why was I not informed of this possibility?" King Settra growled.


	16. 16

"My- my King," stammered Khant, "I- didn't- I don't know. The Elders would know, but I assumed they would have told you of such things."

"An assumption I made, as well," said King Settra, "I am a fool. A fool with Ubaid, a fool with the Cult. When I died, I wielded absolute power, feared nothing. My enemies were dead, my closest allies in power, no one dared defy me. I'd forgotten that was then, and this is now. And now I am little else but a petty king of a destroyed kingdom. I cannot be assured as I once was."

Lahmizzash and Khant remained silent, unsure of what they dare say after regal self-criticism. They could be sycophantic and advise Settra he was wrong and a wise ruler, but the monarch might be angered by such obvious patronization- or by being called wrong. Or they could sycophantically agree with Settra and advise him, yes, he was quite the fool, indeed. Yes. That would go over very well. They said nothing.

King Settra took Lahmizzash's staff and held Khant before him. "Have your Elders explored this possibility?"

"In a minor way, King Settra. I helped take the census of the common burial sites in south-eastern Khemri. There are… 123 mortuary houses in that district. 31- no- 32 reagent catacombs. And 11 grand ossuaries. There may be older ones that are lost to us."

"How many people?"

"They represent centuries of city people, my king. It was also customary for nearby rural folk to be buried in the city. I'm unsure of the number, but millions, certainly. However, many of them are empty, as if all the bodies within were exhumed."

"What? To what purpose?"

"I do not know, my king. I don't think the Elders know, either," said Khant, "Or, if they do, they never said so in my hearing."

"How many are missing?"

"It is difficult to know, my king, as each mortuary house or burial place was used for a certain period, and when filled, a new one made. But it is certainly hundreds of thousands, if not millions, too."

King Settra considered Khant's skull in silence for several moments, the chariot continuing its clacking way through the streets of Numas. The northern wall was beginning to loom before them. Finally, he handed Khant back to Lahmizzash.

"Learn more about this. Acolyte Khant, you shall head the Cultists stationed in this city. Lord Lahmizzash, assist his efforts. You shall both seek what answers may be found in this city- our current state, the Erased Name, the countless missing corpses of Nehekarans. These things are certainly linked, though I know not how."

"Yes, King Settra," said Lahmizzash and Khant.

The chariot passed thicker groupings of Settra's soldiers until it came to a stop before the assembly of several companies, arrayed before the gates and upon the walls above. One of Settra's two relatives, Lahmizzash was unsure if it was Rakir or Rakar, strode forward to meet them.

"King Settra, it is as you say: the soldiers of Ubaid are gathered outside the gate."

"Were they resistant?" asked Settra.

"Some, and mostly just before exiting the city. But assurances that Ubaid would address them seemed enough to impel them. A few needed to be pushed."

"Fine," said Settra, stepping down from his chariot. "I trust this gatehouse has a jail, Lord Rakir?"

"Yes, my king. In the accustomed location."

"Good. When the soldiers arrive with Ubaid's head, usher them there. I will await them."

The prince bowed as King Settra strode off toward the gate. Lacking specific instruction, Lahmizzash followed. The city gate was a functional twelve feet high and thirty feet wide- a comfortable fit for even the widest of wagons. The wooden gate was long dissolved in time, but several ranks of Settra's spearmen stood in its place. Beyond them, a sea of Ubaid's soldiers stood silently- countless empty eye sockets staring in through the gate. It made Lahmizzash's skin crawl, and he lacked most of his skin these days.

Nehekaran gate houses commonly contained a small office near the base of the east-most gate tower. It served as a location for customs and tax collection when cargos of sufficient size arrived to move into the city. Adjacent to the office, there was always a sort of jail to hold criminals, smugglers, and suspicious sorts apprehended in the attempt to enter the city. Generally nothing more than a long wall with shackles.

That was the case of this particular gatehouse. The jail was a dreary stone dugout, covered in sand which likely blew through the head level gaps in the wall which passed as windows. The room was dug into the ground, so the feet of soldiers outside were clearly visible through those gaps. It was dim, decrepit, depressing- the current state of the Nehekaran Kingdom in a single room. Lahmizzash entered, still curious as to Settra's purpose here.

King Settra grunted to himself- apparently satisfied with the room. He turned to address Rakir, whom was hovering in the doorway. "Send a soldier for a bucket of water, or whatever can be dredged up from the bottom of the city's wells. I don't care what it may be, as long as it is wet."

If Rakir had questions about that order, he kept them to himself and left with a quick bow. Lahmizzash and Settra were left alone in the room- or as alone as they were ever to be, two guards for each monarch stood near the doorway. It seemed to Lahmizzash that Settra was preparing some form of theatre for Ubaid: a small, enclosed room with connotations of punishment and misery. A personal audience, much more intermediating, especially when the other party is King Settra himself. A bucket of water….? Well, Lahmizzash decided he would wait and see, rather than ask.

Instead, he said: "You intend to coerce Ubaid into some action?"

"Yes. I want his army, but so far as the Cult has informed me, the authority to command them is not something that can be simply taken away." He looked at Khant's skull. "Unless you know something else the Elders have withheld from me? "

"No, King Settra. The authority of awakened kings over their soldiers has something to do with the rites performed upon the tombs in question. Any troops raised from Ubaid's tomb will answer only to him. We are yet unaware of a way to alter that connection, though we think there may be a means to use an alternate family member."

"Ubaid's family was a young dynasty in Numas- his grandfather gained rank in loyal service to my own predecessors," said Lahmizzash.

"Ubaid's family line can sleep until the world turns back to water. He was a mistake to awaken, and I will now correct it. As you say, Lahmizzash, I wish to coerce him. I want him to order his army into my service, but obviously, it is something he must do of his own choice. It may occur to him that he has the choice to not do as I wish, or to order his soldiers to rebel. There is not a real threat to my forces, but it would be a waste of a Nehekaran army I would rather take north with me to battle."

A soldier entered the room with a golden urn- wooden buckets likely long out of manufacture in Nehekara. It was filled to the brim with a brown, murky slop which could easily be argued as not water at all. Settra indicated it be set in the center of the room. "A blessing we no longer drink," said Settra, "If that is the bounty of Numas's wells."


	17. 17

Rakir reappeared in the room and bowed. King Settra lifted a hand and made a 'bring it' gesture. Rakir bowed again, left, and was replaced with a soldier holding a skull in both hands.

Ubaid was silent, as one would normally expect a skull to be; but presently in Nehekara, an intact body was not a prerequisite for life. Khant, the Cult acolyte's skull atop Lahmizzash's staff of office, was also a fully sentient person, if an immobile one. Lahmizzash, Khant staff in hand, stood to the side of the narrow room, watching the skull of once-King-in-Numas Ubaid pass by in the hands of King Settra's soldier. This was Settra's event, and they remained prudently silent.

King Settra watched the skull of Ubaid be carried forward. He sat upon a small metal stool, his sheathed sword like a cane beside him, holding up an idly threatening right arm. The guard came to a stop before him, a mute conveyance of the skull.

"King Settra," began the skull of Ubaid, "this was a misunderstand-"

Settra cut him off. "When you decided to disobey my order, did you foresee a future other than this? What was your plan? Build up a fortress? Make my inevitable vengeance too expensive to pursue?"

Settra paused. "Hmm? Well?"

Ubaid was silent.

"So," said Settra, "plain enough. Then what? Wait until I was weak, and strike? Or find new allies to protect you?"

Ubaid found his voice again. "I only-"

"Only wasted my time!" Settra shouted. "I am now here in the east. I can smell greenskins like a distant rain, and Numas sits exposed before the coming storm. You've brought me to this crippled ship, forced me to take it, and now to defend it. How will you compensate me for this inconvenience?"

Ubaid was silent again, likely expecting another interruption.

"Well!?"

"I-, I- can offer payment. Gold! All the wealth of Numas."

"I am King Settra! You think I lack for wealth? I now hold all that is Numas, and that small beside Khemri." Settra reached forward and grasped Ubaid's skull with a violent movement. Ubaid let out a instinctual yelp, and then a gasp when a small jerk of Settra's hand spun him the air like a ball, to land right-side-up atop Settra's upturned palm. "Have you something real to offer?"

"My loyalty!" Ubaid blurted, "My loyalty to you, and I shall do all that you would wish."

"Ah, your loyalty. You offer me this, but was it not something you said I already possessed? That this was all a misunderstanding? So why now offer to me, once again, what I supposedly already have? I wonder."

Ubaid attempted to start several sentences, but sputtered to a stop, abandoning the thoughts. Settra watched him silently, his dark eye sockets boring into the sputtering skull. Lahmizzash shifted his weight. Ubaid had stepped directly into a rather obvious trap. King Settra was not exactly breaking a cognitive sweat. However, Lahmizzash suspected that King Settra was more intent on manipulating Ubaid's emotions- rapid shifts between panic and manic desperation, all under a cloud of fear- gradually wobbling the pedestal of Ubaid's psyche. Then crush it.

"I will tell you what you may do," said King Settra. His right hand abandoned his sword and let it drop to the ground, his hand instead joining his left on Ubaid's skull. "You shall tell your soldiers that I am their leader, and that they will obey me in all things for all time."

"Of course! I will do as you say!"

"Your quick agreement is gratifying, but I have little confidence in your words. Words are fickle things. Theoretical things. I favor training. A soldier, properly trained, will act properly without words. They will see and they will know and they will do. That is training."

King Settra scraped his fingernails along Ubaid's skull. "I need to train you to consider the consequences of additional disobedience." He plunged his thumbs deep into Ubaid's empty eye-sockets. Ubaid screamed, surprised, a frantic tone of pain. Lahmizzash knew that pain from his own early experiments with his new unliving existence.

The mind, or whatever which allowed some Nehekarans their current consciousness, stubbornly held to the habits of their previous lives. It conveyed weariness, it fabricated the senses- sight without eyes, smells without noses- and it was convinced that fingers in the eye was as incredibly painful as it would be in life.

"This will be your existence," yelled Settra over Ubaid's screams, "This will be the price if you defy me in this!" He dug his thumbs in deeper, increasing the pitch of the screams. After a long interval of this, Settra withdrew his fingers, the screaming turned into exhausted weeping. Settra reached into the golden urn, brought out a sloppy handful of the muck, then stuffed it into the skull's teeth.

Lahmizzash idly wondered if that worked. As of yet, he'd not tried to put anything in his mouth- but then Ubaid's skull began making gasping and sputtering sounds. Settra reached for another handful of muck, and stuffed it into Ubaid's empty eye sockets, causing even more screams, and Settra followed it up with fingers, swirling them around the muddy sockets.

"Stop! Stop!"

"This will be your existence! This will be what you will feel! Forever!" King Settra shouted, then flung Ubaid's head into the urn of muck water. The screams silenced as the head sank under the surface.

King Settra sighed and sat back on his stool. A guard came forward and offered his own tabard for Settra to clean his hand upon. Settra did so, and took up his sword and clanged it against the urn a few times. "Ah, Lord Lahmizzash," he sighed, "I generally have someone else do this sort of thing- a defeated enemy is rather boring. But I must admit, this time I am enjoying."


	18. 18

These were not tactics Lahmizzash utilized, he didn't have the heart for it. But his own Nehekara had been much more stable and institutionalized than King Settra's time period. Enemies were enemies in a political sense, not in a martial sense. In Lahmizzash's time period, torturing a political enemy was unheard of- even imprisoning an aristocrat in anything other than a palace was deeply ill regarded, and could gain you enemies where you had only indifferent neutrals before. The nobles were always so sensitive to the reach of royal prerogative- which turned ruling into a delicate tightrope. Plus, there had been a recent ruler before Lahmizzash who had done far too much of that sort of thing- torture, execution, and worse. Who had that been? What was his name? Lahmizzash struggled to come up with it, but his mind ran against a hole in his memory. It seemed a strange thing to forget.

He began to consider this forgetfulness, but before he could get very far, King Settra was raising Ubaid from his mud bath. The skull was gasping and sputtering, though no air passed through its skeletal teeth. "My eyes, my eyes, it's in my eyes," the skull was muttering to itself, "It hurts, get it out, please."

King Settra turned the skull to face the ground and slapped it on the back of the head, knocking globs of filth and mud from Ubaid's eyes, nose, and mouth. Settra turned Ubaid in his palm, looking the muddy head in the eyes once again.

"So, you've had your taste. I promise an eternity of the same, and worse, if you disobey me in this."

"Yes, King Settra," said Ubaid, voice cracking, "I will do as you say and nothing else."

"Then we go," Settra stood, took up his sword, and keeping Ubaid firmly in hand, strode past Lahmizzash and exited the room. Lahmizzash followed closely. The scene outside remained much the same, soldiers in Settra's colors maintained a thick guard on the gate. King Settra paid it little heed and instead immediately strode for the stairwell to the top of the gate. Guards hurried to follow him. Lahmizzash noted the approach of two of his own, and they followed up the switchback stone stairs.

The upper gatehouse was a simple open space, offering clear vision of the streets below, the top of the city walls, and the land outside. In previous times, bored gate guards would eye traffic in and out of the city. Today, a large number of Settra's archers stood watch here and along the walls. On the barren land before the gate, Ubaid's unarmed soldiers stood in tightly packed rows, thousands of them, eerily silent. Surrounding the group was a large assortment of Settra's army, including the three hierotitans (Lahmizzash's Pellon being one of those). Should the army rebel against their captors, there was no question they would be quickly and efficiently put down.

"The time is here, Ubaid," growled Settra, "Tell your army thus: 'I am King Ubaid! I order you into King Settra's service. Obey him in all things, now and forever.' Say nothing else, or you shall endlessly suffer as you suffered today."

"Yes, King Settra," mumbled Ubaid.

King Settra walked to the edge of the gatehouse and raised the head of Ubaid before him. As one, Ubaid's entire army turned their heads to look. Thousands of black eye sockets focused on King Settra and Ubaid's head. They could sense the presence of their fallen King, that much was certain. Ubaid was held there for a long moment, silent. Long enough for Lahmizzash to begin to worry, but then Ubaid called out in a loud voice, cracking only just slightly.

"I am King Ubaid! I order you into King Settra's service. Obey him in all things! Now and Forever!"

The soldiers below did not show any reaction. King Settra lowered Ubaid's skull, gazed over the army below.

"Arrange yourselves outside the western gate. Be ready to march to Khemri!"

As one, the soldiers turned west, and the army began moving in that direction. King Settra's forces parted away before them to allow them to pass. King Settra grunted in a satisfied sort of way. He stepped away from the ledge and out of easy view of the troops below.

"Excellent, excellent. I am pleased with the outcome," he said, glanced at Ubaid in his hand, then idly dropped the skull to the floor.

"Ugh! What are you doing, King Settra? I did as you asked!" said Ubaid as he rolled slightly on the ground, his voice frantic.

King Settra didn't answer, instead he lifted his right foot and brought it smashing back down atop Ubaid's head, shattering the dome of the skull. Lahmizzash was unsure if Ubaid was dead, but the skull never made another sound. Meanwhile, Settra's foot rose and fell, the next stomp destroyed the mandible, the next obliterated the front of the face. In short order, the head of Ubaid was an unrecognizable pile of bone shards. With a final, contemptuous grunt, King Settra ground his foot into some of the larger pieces.

"It is finished. Finally. And with the best outcome I could have hoped from this travesty- though I certainly did not foresee it," said King Settra. He looked then long and hard at Lahmizzash, "You, I think, represent the true start of my campaign, Lord Lahmizzash. Come, join me at banquet this evening, and I shall provide you the details of my plans."

"I am honored by the offer," said Lahmizzash with a bow.

"Attend me in my chariot. We shall head to the palace, together."

They descended the gatehouse in a more companionable fashion, shoulder to shoulder. King Settra's mood once again was changed, apparently the final dispatch of an enemy putting him into great good humor. "What of your hobbies, Lord Lahmizzash?" Settra asked, "What did you do when you could steal hours away from the throne of Khemri?"

"Architecture, primarily, King Settra. I enjoyed the process of building, and my builders humored my ideas because, well- I was king."

Settra was delayed in answering, "Ah, I see, I see. Yes, I'm sure there was much to be done about Khemri in that way." He sounded somewhat disappointed.

Lahmizzash realized Settra was trying to connect with him, and while truthful, Lahmizzash had not offered any promising territory for conversation- in Settra's eye at least. He churned his mind for a different topic- hobbies- what would King Settra have for hobbies? He was a physical man, powerful, likely bored by administration. He would be a fan of sport, to be sure. Any sport. Probably a violent one.

"I also enjoyed spearfishing," said Lahmizzash, "Especially when the fish were running in the river Khemri, I could throw till my arms gave way, and never want for targets."

King Settra glanced at him, and though his eye sockets were dark and empty, Lahmizzash would later swear they were glowing. "So it was in my day, as well!" said King Settra, " I would attend the running fish atop my barge in the river, and then grill the catch in the evening with my soldiers. Though one day, and one fish, stands out most in my memory! I first saw the beast when it was pointed out by the man at the bow. All of us with spears turned at his outcry- the largest fish he had ever seen- he shouted that over and over. He in his cups, you know- well, as we all were. His excitement spread to all of us."

They reached the ground level again and walked towards the chariot, King Settra continuing his story all the while.

"As you know, the river becomes clouded from the movement of all the running fish, so I could only see the dark shape of the beast as it neared the barge. The bow-man spoke true, it was a massive fish, its dark shape nearly as long as the barge itself. The other fish darted about it like the shadows of birds. I ordered all spears to be held- one hit would not fell the creature, only alarm it. So how to slay it?'

The chariot moved off into the streets of the city.

"With no time to plan, I realized the only way to catch the fish was to grab it now while we could and never let go. As it passed the barge, I took up my spear and leapt upon it, intending to spear it and grasp it with my legs. I distinctly remember the feel of the spear as it sank into the creature-" King Settra glanced at Lahmizzash. "It was too tough, too resistant to the blade. And my legs did not wrap around the slick side of a fish, but a rougher, scalier flesh that was entirely surprising. But I clung to the spear and to that body with all my strength as the beast flailed about in pain from my attack. It was then it reared above the surface and turned to strike back at its attacker- all the men in the barge gave out a shout of alarm- for it was no fish, but a crocodile!

'I'll never forget its right eye as it turned its head to look at me- it gleamed with a maliciousness that no human could ever replicate. And then it twisted to bite me in revenge. I narrowly avoided the snapping jaws! Then it tried again from the left, and thrashed violently to try and unseat me. My soldiers were yelling and stomping, but they dared not throw a spear for fear of hitting me in the chaos. A few brave souls jumped into the water, but then lacked leverage to throw their weapons and the crocodile and the current quickly took me out of their reach. The barge was then unanchored, but the ores were stowed, so it would take time to get moving.. I was effectively alone in the water atop a rampaging crocodile!'

Lahmizzash realized he knew this story- it was one of the most famous in the lore of King Settra. However, hearing it from the source was a real treat.

'There was no doubt in either of us, myself or that monster: only one of us would survive the encounter. So we did all that we could. It tried to drown me by going under the water, but I would hold fast and wrench at the embedded spear- the pain of it would force the beast back to the surface. I remember how it would gasp for air as much as myself- I know now that my spear had punctured one of its air sacs. An essential organ, according to the scholars. But unable to retreat into the depths, it then began to spin violently on the surface like a fallen palm trunk. Hoping to throw my grip, no doubt, but I held. Though I realized I was not winning this battle, simply, desperately, not losing. I needed to attack, but my spear was already embedded and was essential to me maintaining my grip on the beast. Were I dismounted, I was certain to be devoured by the vengeful creature. I could not retrieve my spear and strike again.'

'I remembered I was wearing a knife, a tiny thing, but better than nothing, so I took it from my hip and cut into the creature as I could between its thrashing and rolling. Blood poured and turned the water red, and the crocodile thrashed and rolled all the more desperately. Finally, I plunged my blade into the backbone of the creature, and it lost all strength in the rear of its body. It could only feebly move its head back and forth as it floated with the current of the river. I took out my spear and plunged it back into the creatures head, slaying it. Then I had to try and keep my trophy afloat while the barge struggled to catch up!'

'Thankfully it floated mostly. Men jumped into the water to aid me, and soon enough we had the beast on the barge. It was as large as a chariot, I tell you! It's jaws this wide." Settra outstretched his arms to their full length. "Even wider than this. So rare a catch, we all resolved to eat it. We cut into the creature, but the flesh had a foul texture, and the beast's stomach contained a human arm! So we cut off the beast's head as a trophy and threw the rest into the river for the fish to do with as they would.'

'I ordered a taxidermist to mount the head, and intended to include it in my collection. But later I learned the arm we discovered inside the monster belonged to a farmer's daughter several miles downriver. So I sent the head to them as a gift, along with a dowry which would make any man wish to wed that woman, even with one less arm than most.'

Lahmizzash was fascinated. The legendary story was much more farfetched: in the story told Lahmizzash when he was a boy, there was no fishing barge or drunken soldiers, but King Settra was told that a princess had lost an arm to a river monster, and so set out to hunt it. To be fair to the beast, he set out without a boat and without a weapon, and swam the river until he found the beast and battled it with his bare hands. When the monster dishonorably tried to bite King Settra, King Settra bit the monster back, and through the hole in the beast's flesh, plunged in his hands and ripped out its beating heart. Thus, avenging the princess and retrieving her arm. Naturally, King Settra reconnected the arm to the princess and she lived happily after.

Though a legend, King Settra's personal memory of the event highlighted the truth in it. King Settra killed a crocodile in personal combat, though he used weapons, which is reasonable- but still amazing. His dowry gift to the maimed farmer girl was essentially giving her the arm back- at least in the social/financial sense. Lahmizzash felt renewed awe in the man, and wondered what other stories may be based in real exploits.

Meanwhile, King Settra was looking at him expectantly. It was Lahmizzash's turn to share a fishing story. He had nothing that could follow Settra's.

"I once speared a fish which weighed twenty pounds," Lahmizzash said lamely.

Settra looked at him expectantly, waiting for the tale. Lahmizzash remained silent, though allowed a smirk to cross his mummified lips. Then Settra understood and started laughing. It echoed brightly off the ruined walls of Numas, a pleasant sound replacing the silence of that place.


	19. 19

The palace of Numas was in bad shape, even by the standards of the ruined kingdom as a whole. Only the bottom levels of the structures were still standing. By Lahmizzash's memory, they had once been tall and broad, the center building was designed with large, angular gaps which served to capture any passing wind and convey it cleverly into the building. The side effect was that the building plan called for angles and gaps of sizes and shapes ill-suited for stone arches. Wood was instead used to shore up the construction. Wood rots with time, and so most of the majesty of the palace was gone, in a pile of collapsed rubble in the center of the complex. Settra's chariot passed a long line of soldiers relaying stones from the interior of the palace and creating neat stacks in what was once the main courtyard.

"This is why I found Ubaid in a grain silo," said Lahmizzash.

"Worse than I thought," said Settra, "but no matter, the weather will be fine under the open sky."

The courtyard and palace were flooded with other soldiers, going about unknown but likely mundane tasks. If Prince Rakir was at the gate, then it was likely Prince Rakar whom was in command here. A small group of soldiers stood out to Lahmizzash's eye- they were dressed in his blue and gold. There were five of them, which including the one riding on the chariot behind himself, counted the six who were not left with the captured skaven.

"May I have your leave, King Settra? I wish to confer with my soldiers and discover the fate of my captive."

King Settra glanced at the group of blue soldiers and gave an idle wave of his hand. Lahmizzash recognized a royal dismissal well enough. He turned, and his soldier on the same page, stepped off the slowly moving chariot- Lahmizzash quickly behind. They crossed the courtyard to the other Yak'reb soldiers, whom all turned to stare at his approach.

Lahmizzash felt a warm feeling towards them. It felt good to be outside the immediate presence of King Settra- it felt less… subordinate. Despite the warming relationship with the monarch, Lahmizzash was eager for King Settra to satisfy himself and leave on his campaign to the north. There was much to be done, and somewhere to the west near Khemri, some low-ranking group of cultists were supposed to be unearthing the rest of his family tomb: his wife, son, and daughter were all awaiting him somewhere. Not to mention his ancestors!

"It is good to see you. How is our prisoner?"

The guards all stared at him mutely. Of course. They could not speak. A bit of Lahmizzash's good mood left him, but he remembered that may be a fixable problem. He tried a more direct question. "If he is here, lead me to him."

One of the guards gestured with an arm toward the palace, and set off in the lead.

"Khant, do you think we can restore speech to my followers anytime soon?" The skull of the cultist was silent most of the time with King Settra, one could almost forget he was there, forget the inanimate skull atop his staff held the consciousness of another once living being like himself.

"I've a few theories. But I will need to do some research and some experimentation," said the skull as Lahmizzash and his guards advanced towards the ruined palace.

"What will you need? A way to be held up, and… perhaps a guard to position reading material and maintain a light source? I doubt we can find any usable candles."

"I can create more light stones, so that won't be a concern. But the soldier would be welcome. I might be able to get started if the local Mortuary Cult buildings still contain their books and tombs."

"You won't need to return to the main compound in Khemri?"

"I might- but many of the most essential books on rituals were standardized by Elder Akkeppo in the years of-" Khant stopped himself. "It doesn't matter, but I might be able to find what I need here in Numas."

"Good. I won't deprive you of seeing more of our skaven friend, but rather than you attend the state dinner tonight, I intend to put you in charge of some of my men to get started on finding the books you need and getting to work."

"I would greatly enjoy that," said Khant, "I've never enjoyed official functions. That's why I was always passed over for promotions…"

"You impressed King Settra, I think. You've also impressed me. I don't think you need to worry about a lack of promotion from now on, if you continue your current path."

"Yes, Lord Lahmizzash," said Khant, his voice hopeful for the first time Lahmizzash could remember.

As they ascended the last of the cracked stone stairs to the palace entrance, a wariness settled on Lahmizzash's shoulders. His body may not need sleep in its current undead state, but the constant stream of events and undertakings was beginning to take a toll. It was a dull ache in the back of his skull, a familiar pain of stressful days and lack of rest. Experience told him he needed to take some time for himself, but there was much yet to do. This was a critical time.

The skaven needed to be handled- this single rat-man may be a useless distraction, or he may represent an important diplomatic connection. There was also Settra's state dinner planned for this evening- a dinner for undead people who did not eat in a land that had no food. What was that about? Regardless, Lahmizzash suspected he may soon be meeting additional members of King Settra's court, so he would need to be present and on-guard. Nothing is resented more than the meteoric rise of a newcomer. Perhaps late tonight he would find some time to recollect himself, but for now, he must press onward.

His soldiers silently led him into the palace. It was better described as a walled-in courtyard, what with all but the first story or so of the walls still standing. The main chamber was a pile of rubble, except in a slowly growing rectangular area that Settra's soldiers were clearing stone by stone. A few were even making early attempts at corralling piles of sand, crawling around on the ground and using the flat of their swords to manipulate sand piles. Though it was open overhead, the remaining walls at least kept the wind out. This was to be the dining room, it seemed.

His party made a careful path over a few rubble piles to enter a side hallway, which was down a half flight of stairs. Likely these were a portion of the old servants corridors and chambers, which by virtue of being half in the earth, still existed as a recognizable hallways and rooms. It was well lit, not like the prison in which Ubaid enjoyed his final agony. These were designed for the respectable skilled laborers whom were essential to the operation of a traditional Nehekaran royal house. The late afternoon sunlight beamed in from numerous windows (gaps in the wall), and the rooms they passed were generous in size. Most of the aristocracy long since learned that a content and comfortable labor force would act to preserve the home as their livelihood, and were less likely to betray their masters. This being a royal palace, the rooms needed to be better than some run-of-the-mill aristocrat's home, naturally.

Lahmizzash turned a corner and found the seventh of his guards standing before a doorway that was more-or-less closed off by a hasty pile of stones. One of Lahmizzash's accompanying guards moved forward and began helping that guard clear the doorway.

"It is time to honor your promise!" came the voice of the skaven from inside the room. "Let me go-go you dead things! And give me back my drinker bottle!"

Obviously, the four guards Lahmizzash left with the skaven at the bottom of the ghoul-infested tomb accomplished their mission. The skaven was still alive and still a captive. They also seemed to have searched the creature. On the floor beside the doorway, an eclectic assortment of items were arranged in a orderly fashion: pouches (herbs of some sort), a water skin (the drinker bottle, perhaps?), some old looking bread wrapped in dirty cloth, a malicious looking wire with two hand-grips, seven daggers of varied lengths, a small collection of vials with dark, viscous liquid inside, and a bundle of some kind of thick fur (Whiskers? Whiskers from other rat men, or from himself?).

Lahmizzash knew very little about skaven, other than the children's stories- but he knew a lot about security concerns for a royal family in a political world. This was the kit of an assassin- daggers and poison were surely items universal to the trade, regardless of the practitioner's origin. This skaven was a lucky find, then. Obviously, himself and King Settra were not the targets, because the rat-creature was surprised to see them. That and… well- they were already dead. He'd just seen Ubaid be "killed", whether he was dead-dead, as in, lacking consciousness, or simply mute shards of bone… well, Lahmizzash did not want to find out himself. However, poison seemed an ineffective weapon to use against modern Nehekarans. So the skaven had been on some other mission when Lahmizzash stumbled upon him..

And that was the key to the rat-man's value. He was on a mission. It follows that someone or something sent him on that mission, and was assuredly interested in the outcome. So the skaven was not a civilian with no voice, but a pawn with access to the ear of a decision maker. Who, or what, that decision maker might be, Lahmizzash intended to find out. He settled himself into a diplomatic demeanor as his soldiers finished clearing away the last of the stones.

When the way was clear, Lahmizzash took up the water skin and the bread and entered the room. The final three guards of his original force were inside, one on each wall and the skaven stood near the fourth wall, obviously in some distress and anger. Its black eyes opened wider in recognition, then narrowed again in suspicion.

Lahmizzash walked forward and offered the creature the water skin and the bread. "I apologize my men did not leave this with you. I failed to instruct them properly, and until now, urgent events detained me."

The skaven snatched the food and water and went at them with ravenous appetite. His eyes never left Lahmizzash, still burning with anger and fear. Not the best start to a relationship. Lahmizzash took a few respectful steps backward, to give the creature more personal space, though he wondered if that sent the same message to the skaven as it would to a Nehekaran. How do skaven value personal space? If it all? Did Lahmizzash just send the message he was retreating, or that he was afraid of the rat-man?

His mind careened down this new path of thought. Lahmizzash realized he could assume nothing in relations with this creature. It was an amazing fact that this creature could speak Lahmizzash's language at all. How that came to be, he could not guess. But the ease in which they could communicate because of both speaking the same language… that was a cognitive trap; luring him into thinking the skaven would understand as he understood. A shared language would not ameliorate the gulf of differences between the skaven, a rat-man assassin from… somewhere.. and Lahmizzash, a (undead) human and groomed royal of Nehekara. Yes, they could speak with one another, but with such drastic difference in background and culture- could Lahmizzash be confident they really understood in the same way?

If each were to take a word differently, or a relationship differently, or worst of all, understand a deal differently- each thinking the other understood it as they themselves did- it could lead to dangerous misunderstandings. Mistakes in communication that would not be realized until down the road, when a growing sense of trust would be broken by the discovery of a misunderstanding, and the inevitable conclusion that it was deliberate, transforming into a feeling of betrayal dooming the entire enterprise.

Lahmizzash wondered how he should start. How to begin building a working relationship when he had already seized and imprisoned this creature against its will. Now he'd even deprived it of water and food, basic necessities of life. That had not been intentional, but he doubted the skaven would regard it better if Lahmizzsh told him that was from forgetfulness and not malice. Either way, the rat was made hungry and thirsty.

The skaven finished off the last of the water with a gulp. The only evidence of the bread was dried crumbs in the creature's snout. Whatever Lahmizzash was to say, he needed to start now.


	20. 20

"You helped me-" Lahmizzash searched his memory for the creatures name, but couldn't find it. He decided he could avoid using the name altogether. "Yet you are kept a prisoner. It seems this makes you angry."

The skaven was watching him intently. Lahmizzash had its attention.

"I will give you a gift to reward you." The rat-man's ears perked up at the word. "Gold, gems, and a fine weapon."

"Where are these shiny things?" asked the skaven.

"Nearby. But I need to know some things before I give them to you and let you go."

The skaven let out a low hiss. "Liar dead-thing. You say I will go free, yet don't. You say you have gifts, yet don't. You just say-say, never say-do."

"All these things I said, I will still do. I never said when these things would happen, only that they would."

The skaven's tailed flicked angrily. "Ask and I tell, dead-thing."

"Where did you come from?"

"Caves."

"Which caves? Where?"

"Big caves, made by chin-hairs. East. In mountains."

"How many of your kind are there?"

"Lots-lots. More than numbers."

"Who is your leader?"

"The great Queek. Queek rules in the mountain, and send me to places. Wise rats listen, dumb rats die. You die, too- if you not let go."

"What were you sent to do?"

The skaven's eyes narrowed. "Go someplace."

That was an obvious wall, but Lahmizzash was not particularly interested in the creature's real mission. He decided he had enough of what he wanted. There was a force of skaven to the east, in the mountains, led by a creature named Queek. This creature was an agent of Queek, sent on some mission, but he certainly would know little of the motivations and ambitions of his master.

Then again, the stories said that the skaven were a horde, numberless as grains of sand. In other words: a rabble. Leaders of rabble did so by emotion- he'd seen it happen in the streets of Khemri more than once. Anger and fear, anger and fear, a touch of stupidity or willful ignorance, and you could form yourself an army. Not a very good army, but certainly a force which could be unleashed to dangerous potential. This- Queek, as a rabble-rouser, would give motivational speeches, and those would be close enough to the truth.

"Why are the skaven here, on the surface?"

"The surface is a rightful place for us," the rat-man snapped, "We will have what is ours!"

Conquest, then. Lovely. And the assurance of the statement. It made for an easy trap. "All the surface? Even this place? Nehekara? The ancient home of my people?"

"No, dead land to the dead-things. We not want." The rat-man's voice was quick and warm, a stunning change from his usual tone. An amazingly unsubtle evasion of Lahmizzash's obvious trap. There was no question then, the skaven were sure to be a future rival. But that did not mean they could not be a present ally.

"I have a gift and a message for your leader. This great Queek. Would you take it to him?"

"Yes, yes. Let me go, and I will take it to Queek. He will be pleased at a gift and glad you let me go!"

"How will I know you would do this thing, and not just keep the gift for yourself?"

"Never! Keep from Queek? Die from Queek!"

"The gift I will give you, it is for you. I will give you an additional gift when you return with Queek's response to my message- something even better than the gift you will carry for Queek."

"Yes! Yes I will come back. Let me go! I will take!"

"Good. I will arrange this, then. You will need to wait here."

"You said I will go-go!"

"You will! Just wait longer."

"Too much waiting!" shouted the rat-man, his voice following Lahmizzash back down the servant's halls of the palace. He reviewed the conversation. It had been easy, brief, with basic statements and agreements. There didn't seem to be any danger of misunderstanding. If the creature reneged on the task, then there was no more at stake than whatever gift King Settra thought fit to send to this Queek.

Was there a way to make sure that the creature actually went back to Queek? No. But the promise of additional reward was the best he could do. It should not be difficult to find some few items from the endless treasure hordes of Numas to give these creatures. Likely anything which could sparkle would do. But first, he needed approval from King Settra. This was a matter of foreign relations, and Lahmizzash was not the sovereign.

He found Settra in the main courtyard, watching the soldiers clearing out the center of the palace. Both Rakir and Rakar were with him, to each side. They all turned to watch Lahmizzash approach.

"King Settra," Lahmizzash bowed, "I've spoken with the skaven prisoner. Would you wish to hear of it now?"

"Yes, tell me of this rat-man."

Lahmizzash described the skaven, the confiscated gear, and the brief conversation and the agreement to take a message to the skaven's leader. King Settra remained silent after Lahmizzash finished, head bowed in thought. After a few moments, King Settra's jaw clenched and unclenched, and he looked again at Lahmizzash. "No. Kill it. And store the body."

The plans forming in Lahmizzash's mind collapsed into a shattered confusion. Surely, he had heard wrong. Had King Settra considered everything? Had Lahmizzash made some error in describing the opportunity the rat-creature represented? "But King Settra-"

"But what **Lord** Lahmizzash? Did you not hear the command from your King?" King Settra's tone was biting and aggressive. It hit Lahmizzash like a slap to the face. He was about to err terribly. Arguing with the King's commands publicly? Madness. The feeling of equality had gone to his head, and now he'd slipped, dangerously. Rakir and Rakar watched them both, their silent, empty eyes taking this moment in. Recording every detail.

"Yes I hear, King Settra. What you say, so shall it be," Lahmizzash said, bowing deeply again.

Settra angrily waved him away, a well-practiced motion of regal disgust.

Lahmizzash backed away and made a quick retreat, feeling much the disgraced courtier.

King Settra said, "Rakir, tell me of the tableware. Have you located suitable items?"

"Yes, King Settra. I discovered.." Rakir's voice faded as Lahmizzash retreated back into the servant's hallways. Once out of sight, Lahmizzash paused and leaned against a stone wall. He didn't breathe, not really, but he felt like his heart was racing- he didn't have one of those anymore either. But he was boiling with embarrassment and frustration, his mind a thick weight of the feeling of it, not quite pain, but a pressure that was leaving him unsteady. Fool, Fool, Fool!

But he could not swirl in this self-punishment forever. He began to gather himself. He'd let the camaraderie of the chariot rides go to his head. He had forgot the foundation of his new relationship with King Settra: it was vassal to lord, not king to king. That is what he'd accepted, and that is what was necessary. It could not be forgotten. If King Settra thought Lahmizzash could turn rebellious, then Lahmizzash's skull would be next under Settra's feet. And Lahmizzash was in no position to prevent that should King Settra ever desire it.

So. The skaven would die, and the fresh promises of his release would be lies of the worst kind. It could not be helped. He would not risk his future, his family's new existence, for a captured assassin, over some obsession with keeping his word. A king was a politician, and things were said to win, and what the person hearing chose to believe was their own affair. From an ethical standpoint, Lahmizzash doubted the creature was worth this amount of thought. It was an assassin from a vile race. Applying Nehekaran considerations to it was a mistake, an inaccuracy via personification.

But he still did not wish the creature's last moments to be those of fear and hate. He would tell the creature he was free, and end it, the rat would be dead before it knew it was dying. Was that even more cruel? It could be argued that it was, giving false hope and then betraying it. But Lahmizzash had died once, and he'd died on a bed, surrounded by his family, and it was peaceful, and the drugs made it comfortable- he'd been a bit afraid, of course, but he could not imagine how it could have been made more bearable. No. Call it cruel or sinister, but hope and joy were the right emotions to feel at the end; if it was executed right, the rat would never know the betrayal occurred.

Five of his guards were still in the hallway, three were in the room with the skaven, and two were still following him from his brief visit to King Settra. One of the five in the hall was the big one, a head taller and broader than the others. Lahmizzash caught his attention and drew him out of earshot of the prisoner- the rat man might have exceptional hearing due to those big ears.

"When the skaven follows me from the room. Slay it in one blow. Never let it know it is to be attacked."

The guard nodded its understanding. That was new. A very human motion from the giant walking corpse. Surely, Khant could figure out how to make them talk! Speaking of Khant, the skull had been silent this whole time. That was a mercy, as he didn't need a junior cultist commenting on his every action. Perhaps Khant sensed that and remained silent.

Lahmizzash returned to the rest of the guards and the door of stones was again taken down. He entered the room and looked at the simmering skaven. It's brown fur was bristling in anger, as before, and its black eyes were narrowed.

"My King has agreed," announced Lahmizzash. "You will be released, but he wishes to meet you and grant you the gift for your help and the message for your leader."

The rat eyed him angrily, but said, "So slow! Let us go-go, then!"

Lahmizzash led him out of the room, the rat was glancing suspiciously at all the guards. He entered the hallway and looked at the guards there, including the big one which was his doom. But his black eyes wandered past him like the others, noting nothing special about it, and he turned to follow Lahmizzash.

Lahmizzash turned and walked confidently down the hall. So he only heard the fleshy thump of the blow and the flop of a corpse on the ground. He turned to find most of the hallway and most of the guards splattered in dark blood, the big guard's sword glistening in red and fur and some other lighter matter. The creature's head was cloven messily, and the dark eyes were a dead, oblivious glass, long tongue-lolling out. He was not twitching. The blow was utterly devastating.

Lahmizzash sighed without lungs. "Put the body and all its gear back into that room and seal it up."

His guards set to work, and Lahmizzash watched without seeing. What was Settra's reasoning behind this choice? The rat-man represented a diplomatic contact, a link to another faction, a potential source of trade. But what did Settra see? Where did their viewpoints differ? Well, Lahmizzash's Nehekara was the dominant power in the area, and the only worrisome foes were domestic. Foreigners were the source of exotic items and profitable trade, regardless their origin. Even some of the greenskin tribes traded, albeit tensely, with heavily guarded Nehekaran caravans.

But Settra's Nehekara was not that same. After the initial unification, King Settra battled almost exclusively against foreigners. Perhaps to him, a foreigner was a potential foe, which was obvious enough. But this Queek and his skaven were an unknown force, and Nehekara was in shambles. Khemri, Numas, and two armies did not an empire make. Perhaps Settra thought sending a messenger back to a conqueror race would advertise Nehekara's current vulnerability. Now that Lahmizzash considered that, it seemed obvious. With so much unknown in Nehekara, they did not need to also be fending off opportunistic monsters of children's tales. Better Nehekara remain an empty wasteland to everyone's thinking, at least until Nehekara was ready to march in force.

So this assassin would vanish, and this Queek would obviously think its agent had simply been captured and killed by the target, rather than the truth: that the resurrected armies of long dead Nehekara had captured and executed him. And should King Settra and Queek ever come into contact down the road, King Settra had the corpse and gear of an obvious assassin. Assuming there was any diplomatic interchange, King Settra could quickly establish leverage with the corpse, saying it is evidence of subterfuge against his kingdom and an attempt on his person. If Queek came seeking anything other than a fight, such a revelation would put the creature on the back foot and give Settra a major negotiation point. The advantages were there, plain to see when one looked at the situation properly. King Settra's vision was clearer to this sort of chaotic world in which Lahmizzash now found himself.

"I still wonder how it knew our language," said Khant, breaking his silence.

"I doubt he knew the answer," said Lahmizzash.


	21. 21

Lahmizzash led his guards, (the reunited ten), out of the servant's quarters. King Settra and the two brothers were absent from the courtyard, all likely on some business. The guards still toiled away at clearing the courtyard, but the space was getting respectably large. One of Settra's skull-faced hierotitans loomed over the destroyed walls of the palace. It held a large stone slab in one hand. The soon-to-be tabletop, Lahmizzash assumed. He remembered Pellon, his own hierotitan and the rest of his army, which remained mingled with Settra's troops somewhere about the city. Now was not the time to gather them, however.

He led his men out the front of the palace- his own palace now, come to think of it. Well, his when King Settra was not here, anyway. Numas was not Khemri, to be sure, but Lahmizzash did not particularly relish the administrative responsibility which came with power. But as a vassal landed by a thankful monarch, there was certainly no avoiding it. Best to get started.

"I need five of you to transport and assist Acolyte Khant this evening," said Lahmizzash to his guards. Five immediately stepped forward, one being the guard which had posed as Lahmizzash during their deception earlier today. Lahmizzash handed his Khant-tipped staff of office to him. "You are to do as Khant requests, but return by sunrise tomorrow."

He looked directly into the bare eye-sockets of Khant. "We have a multitude of mysteries to unravel, but some are more important than others. Foremost, seek a means to return speech to the people. In similar vein, develop the ritual requested by King Settra- the means to awaken the common people. Of lesser concern are the questions surrounding the Erased Name and the empty burial houses, but if you stumble upon something useful, by all means collect it."

"I understand," said Khant. "I will go now. Take me into the southwestern part of the city."

The five guards trotted off out of the palace grounds, five trotting corpses, their temporary leader a talking skull. Lahmizzash watched them go, realizing how mundane such a thing seemed now, and it was only a few days since his awakening into this undead Nehekara. This new existence seemed a nightmare due to how macabre everything appeared, but in the same way that the fear of a dark room is eliminated with a candle, the present could be made into something grand, something truly good, despite the undeath, perhaps even because of the advantages it provides. The shambles of the kingdom was in the dark of death, but King Settra was a growing light, kindling to reveal the wonders within. This new life was a miracle of opportunity that could be welded into whatever one might wish.

King Settra was likely to reveal his vision of the future tonight. There seemed little other reason to gather his court for a banquet when none of them could eat. But it was a tradition, it was how things were done in Nehekara, and the current undeath of its aristocracy would not stand in the way. It would be a formal affair, and while King Settra would want to dictate his orders and philosophy to his subordinates, he was sure to be intent on the interactions between them, as well. A state dinner was an excellent medium for an observant ruler to gauge his followers and their relationships.

As the newest member, and likely now the highest ranking, Lahmizzash would be under intense scrutiny, not only from Settra, but from all the others, as well. Anyone rising in rank can be resented, as those who are surpassed can sometimes harbor illogical jealousies. A sign of weakness or foolishness in Lahmizzash could make him seem someone who could be removed through subterfuge. During his reign in Khemri, Lahmizzash had known many rivalries between his courtiers, suffered with patience the thinly-veiled jibes between opponents. They could be useful, they could be annoying, but they were mostly a waste of the monarch's time. Lahmizzash was intensely interested in avoiding involvement altogether. He had enough to do and enough to deal with already- he didn't want anyone targeting him as a political rival.

A formal dinner amongst political people was an exercise in subtleties- except one wanted everyone to know what one wanted them to know, but with finesse. Too blunt and you are seen as a fool, unless you already had a reputation for being especially crafty, and then one could do something any which way and people will go through loops of second guessing to figure it out- he must be lying, but it is so obvious that he is lying, so he isn't lying, unless he wants me to think he's not lying but actually is… and so on and so on. Lahmizzash had no such reputation, so he would need to play the game like everyone else.

Foremost, he needed to look the part: the appointed king of Numas. He examined the clothing he was currently wearing. His armor was scuffed, but that could be polished quickly. The problem was the clothing. Most of the fabric in his house's blue and gold was dirty and worn. Somewhat because it was stored in his tomb for centuries, but mostly because he had traveled the desert, explored the underground, scuffled with ghouls, and waited in ambush in Numas. There was some spots of ghoul blood here and there, too. No, this would not do. But he had no replacement items. Anything in his color would be in his tomb in Khemri, and there was no new fabric made or traded in Nehekara currently.

Were his own colors even a good idea? The blue and gold may be House Yak'reb colors, his own ancestral colors- but they were also Khemri colors. Colors from a dynasty which ruled Khemri when Settra did not. Lahmizzash did not think King Settra would see any threat in the blue and gold, most likely he expected it, since he knows Lahmizzash had no other options. However, it would also not send any particular message to anyone else, so it would be a wasted opportunity. He could raid Ubaid's family tomb for clothing- the red and gold of Numas. Lahmizzash Yak'reb ruled Numas now, in King Settra's name, so why not wear Ubaid's old colors? No, that was a terrible idea. To show up in the same colors as the recently defeated betrayer? Lahmizzash may as well show up with "I am the next Ubaid" written on his chest.

Perhaps he would just need to go in his stained rags as they were. The grime of battle and effort might send the right sort of message. I take action, you don't want me to act against you. But Lahmizzash did not possess an imposing physique, nor the ruthless reputation of someone like King Settra. People may look upon him as a ragamuffin, an upstart too uncultured to realize the need for proper clothing- someone to scheme against and bump off. The opposite of what Lahmizzash wanted. No. Doing nothing was not an option.

He let his eyes wander the late afternoon horizon. They lit upon the unmistakable outline of a grand ossurary, the angular steeples recognizable, even if half fallen and collapsed. That would be where the local nobles and poor aristocrats of Numas and the surrounding countryside would be buried. Wealthy families, but not wealthy enough for a private tomb. That place would be filled with heraldry of all sorts. Lahmizzash could go there and take what he wished. Grave robbing? No! He was King of Numas now, so, technically, it was already his.


	22. 22

The banquet was set to begin. Lahmizzash narrowly returned to the palace of Numas in time- walking hurriedly up the broad steps as the sun diminished to a dull glow behind the distant mountains. Two of Settra's massive living statues, hierotitans, flanked the palace on either side- towering over the ruined walls of the building like children over a sandcastle. Lahmizzash's own loyal hierotitan, Pellon, was nowhere to be seen- likely still outside the city with the majority of his minor army. It was not entirely surprising that Lahmizzash's most powerful military asset was not allowed near the gathering. He was, after all, a new vassal- despite recent successes. Long-lived kings lived long by mitigating opportunity and risk, and King Settra ruled for a long time, in his day.

Settra's soldiers were standing at attention throughout the palace front grounds, and those lining the steps and the front gate of the palace held golden staves, each affixed with a glowing light stone- identical in appearance to the ones Khant had quickly made for their trip underground. A contingent of Mortuary Cult must have arrived, or Lahmizzash had simply missed their presence among King Settra's forces. The stones stood in place of torches, and they illuminated the area in a festive way. Almost like a grand ball.

Upon entering the ruined palace, Lahmizzash found the central room, which was an open-air courtyard thanks to the collapse of the palace roof, was now curtained off- a long, broad flag in the Numas' red served as a wall. It appears Lahmizzash had not been the only person engaged in looting tombs for textiles. A robed cultist stood before the obvious entrance through the fabric wall. She bowed.

"Lord Lahmizzash Yak'reb, King of Numas," said the cultist as a greeting, "it is good that you have arrived. I will introduce you immediately." Then in a more conspiring tone when Lahmizzash drew near, she said: "You will find your seat to the right of the head, by King Settra." She parted the canvas wall and stepped through, letting it fall closed behind her.

The right hand seat of King Settra? That sent a strong message. The right hand was the sword hand, the action hand. To place Lahmizzash there was promoting his importance to King Settra in obvious terms: this was a person who got things done, see him set in the place of honor next to me. It gave him authority, prestige, and precedence over the others at the table. It also put a target on his back, at least until he proved himself formidable to the eyes of the other guests.

"I present an arrival!" said the cultist from the other side of the curtain. Lahmizzash made a few final adjustments to his clothing. "I introduce to you, esteemed guests, the King of Numas, Lord Lahmizzash Yak'reb." Her hand reappeared through the curtain and pulled it open. Lahmizzash entered.

Sparkling light from a hundred glowstones shined upon Lahmizzash as he entered the courtyard. The place was transformed, the rubble vanished, the sand swept away. A stone table dominated the center of the space, surrounded by gilded gold chairs and banners of Settra's colors: turquoise and gold, and the golden phoenix, Settra's emblem, was everywhere. Seven people were already seated at the long table, their heads turned to the announcement. Lahmizzash walked confidently, his new(ly looted) turquoise clothing billowing about him. Clad now in King Settra's colors, the message was blunt and unmistakable- I am Settra's man.

Three of the seated guests were recognizable to Lahmizzash: Rakir and Rakar, dressed obnoxiously alike, sat farthest from Settra on the right side. Next to them was a woman, dressed in Settra's colors, too. Her gender recognizable not for her undead beauty (her face was as mummified and eye-less as the rest) but easily picked out by her slimmer form. In fact, there was another woman across the table from the first, but this one was dressed in the black cult robes, and next to her was Nekthop, in his formal black robes, too. Two other men were at the end of the table on the left, neither recognizable to Lahmizzash, but apparent minor nobles if he could guess by their dress. They each wore different colors- one was in a pale lilac tone, and the other an almost painful orange.

The seat nearest to the head of the table, on the right, remained open, and Lahmizzash strode confidently to it. "Good evening," he said, taking his seat. The seated company stared at him silently, so he let his gaze wander evenly between each gaze. Last, his eyes fell on the female noble in turquoise, seated to his left.

"I've not had the honor of meeting you," said Lahmizzash.

"I am Reyna Ahmazid, Governor of Khemri," she said.

Ahmazid. That was the house of both Rakir and Rakar, seated down the table beside her. This was their sister, whom inherited their father's kingdom after the two male heirs killed each other. She held a reputation for strong, effective leadership and long rule. A more… intellectually formidable example of Settra's relations. It would be useful to have a working relationship with this person.

"As you know, my line is buried in Khemri. I may have resources in the city that you might find useful there. Do not hesitate to inquire about them, as only through ignorance would I not deliver what aid I could to you."

"I will remember that, Lord Lahmizzash."

Lahmizzash turned his attention cross the table. Both cultist elders were eyeing him intensely. "Elder Nekthop, I trust your journey was smooth?"

The female cultist answered instead. "I am Elder Aldar. Where is Acolyte Khant?"

That was an amazingly direct question for a conversation of introduction. Who was this person? Beside her, Nekthop remained silent, almost demure. Perhaps this Elder Aldar outranked him? Why the interest in Khant? Nekthop had kept the acolyte's skull in sack, like an old bread roll. Aldar's interest was a mystery, but not one that could be riddled out at the moment. Lahmizzash didn't see a reason to hide the truth from this person, though his instincts were tingling over the question. When in doubt, tell a vague truth.

"He is working on some tasks I set for him," said Lahmizzash, "Is there something amiss?"

"Khant is a valuable researcher. He needs to return to his position."

"I will tell him that you are missing him, but he is in my service, currently."

"He is a member of the cult and must honor his obligations."

My, my, this was not a subtle person. "Elder Aldar, I am aware of his background. But he is also a Nehekaran citizen and may do as he pleases. I will advise him of your words, but he will decide his own fate."

Elder Aldar leaned forward in her chair. "His service to you is ended. He must return to the cult immediately."

Lahmizzash felt a surge of hot anger flash past his forehead. The nerve of this person! She just tore down the façade of cult obligation which she had set up but seconds before. Lahmizzash saw no need to hold up his own façade of Khant's independent choice. "He is my retainer now," he said, "Your claims are void."

"We'll see what King Settra says about that."

Good gods- she still plays the "tell daddy" card? Again: who was this person?

"Do as you see fit," said Lahmizzash curtly.

All eyes at the table were staring at them, taking in the spectacle- the first challenge of will against the newcomer. Lahmizzash had not expected such a sudden, overt, and… incompetent attack. Surely, Aldar could not rise to the top of the Mortuary Cult if this was how she handled formal relationships. Was she putting on a mask, an act? A smoke-screen to hide real cunning underneath? Or was the political climate of her past lifetime a void of competition? Infested with the endless cronies and sycophants of a nepotistic era? Some uncle or cousin appointing her to have a loyal figure in an important spot, regardless of her intellect or competency. She certainly seemed sure in her position and favor with King Settra, but Lahmizzash was certain her illusion would be dashed very soon.

Lahmizzash turned to speak to the two nobles down the table he had yet to meet.

"Your family tomb is empty, by the way," said Aldar. She was obviously smug as Lahmizzash returned his stunned attention to her. "Ah, you have not heard. I thought so. Indeed, your wife, your son, your daughter- not there. Their sarcophagi are empty."

Lahmizzash mind swirled with questions. Where were they? What had happened? What was written on the walls of their tombs? But the news was delivered as an obvious attack. To respond with a question was to grant power and leverage to Elder Aldar- which she obviously did have because she had knowledge of things that interested him, but he didn't have to publicly acknowledge it.

"I had not heard. Thank you for the news." He said coolly. But he felt the cold ache of worry spread about him. What could have gone wrong? What would cause them to not be in their tombs? Was it some misfortune which happened in the past? Was it more recent? Were they actually there and Elder Aldar had hidden them away and just lied to him? How could he find out? Was this Settra's doing? It could be. Family hostages were a Nehekaran tradition. How long would it be before he was reunited with his family? Was that not the entire point of all this? Did any of this matter if he could never find them?

Stop. Stop. STOP! This changes nothing. Finish the dinner. Perform your duties. Then investigate. There was no profit in obsessing over endless variables. He collected himself while gazing evenly at Elder Aldar- her face was particularly withered, only the barest trace of dried flesh remained- her teeth and mandible were evidently visible, looking like a big Cheshire grin.

Lahmizzash was still trying to decide if he'd been expertly manipulated or simply blindsided by a vindictive blunderer when the hosting cultist announced: "I present to you, King Settra, King of Kings, King of Khemri, The Golden Father, The People's Fortunate Rain, Lord and King of all Nehekara." Lahmizzash rose with the others at the table, turning to watch King Settra's entrance.


	23. 23

The light of the glowstones sparkled off the golden sphynx crown of King Settra the Imperishable. His flowing clothing was a vibrant turquoise, interspersed with gold beads and bands. Lapis Lazuli were artfully carved into gold-etched scarabs around his chest plate. His ever-present sword was sheathed at his hip- a plain, but polished silver hilt emerged from a scabbard which dazzled with gemstones. Lahmizzash thought that single item summed up Settra neatly: a honed blade, sheathed in opulence.

Lahmizzash and the other guests stood upon his entrance and bowed, keeping their backs bent until Settra completed his circuit of the table- a train of formally attired guardsmen fanning out around the small courtyard. One pulled out Settra's chair and he sat with regal finesse. The guests all seated themselves, looking to King Settra expectantly.

Settra scanned the table with his eyeless sockets, presumably considering his guests, their dress, they body language. Lahmizzash held himself carefully still as King Settra looked at him- he seemed to pause a moment to take in his choice of attire.

"I am pleased to host you, my allies, in the palace of Numas," said Settra, "I have the efforts of Lord Lahmizzash to thank for that." He nodded his head in the polite regal acknowledgement. Lahmizzash nodded in acceptance of the compliment. "Though you are not wearing your colors this evening, Lord Lahmizzash? As I recall, House Yak'reb is blue and gold."

King Settra was doing him a favor- or setting him up. He was going to make a public show of Lahmizzash's clothing..

"Your memory is accurate, my King. But turquoise is my color now, and will always be."

After a pause, "I see," said King Settra- then paused again. Lahmizzash felt a sudden doubt. Had he miscalculated? Was this too petty, too simple a choice? A sycophantic publicity stunt? Had he made himself look weak to King Settra? His mind blazed a trail into the depths of paranoia until Settra said: "An excellent choice and an excellent color. I know you will wear it as well as my own guards."

The doubt vanished before those words. King Settra approved. Had even likened Lahmizzash to a personal bodyguard- the most loyal and trusted of personal troops. Elder Aldar shifted in her seat perceptively, likely because her internal political scales were now teetering off-balance.

"In celebration of the victory, I've invited you all to this table. Let us start the meal!" he clapped his hands firmly. The drapery was pulled aside and a line of guards emerged, each with a golden dish covered with a golden dome. They lined up behind each guest, then in unison, placed them before the diners- one hand on the dome. These too whisked away simultaneously.

Sand and gravel on a golden plate. Lahmizzash furtively looked around him- everyone else had the same, King Settra, too. The table was silent as King Settra stared at them all.

"What? No one is eating?" said King Settra.

Rakir reached for a spoon. His sister reached out and caught his hand without turning her head away from Settra.

"This dinner is made from the finest Nehekaran produce. Sand and stone and dust!" King Settra flung his plate away with a vicious sweeping motion off his left arm, sending the plate and its contents shooting past Elder Aldar, seated to his left. She was dusted with flying sand granules from the flying plate. King Settra was right-handed, so that was an interesting choice of arm and direction; A message.

King Settra stood from his chair. "What use is a plate without food to put upon it? What use is a king without a kingdom? A kingdom without its people? Useless! All of it. All of us: Ghosts haunting the corpse of a dead civilization! The Golden Kingdom does not exist. It does not exist. It never existed."

The dinner party was dead silent- waiting for King Settra to continue.

"Yet we are awake. In a matter of hours, I transformed this ruin of a palace into this sparkling grotto. Imagine what can be done to Nehekara in a matter of months- when Lord Lahmizzash can take Numas in a day. Imagine what years will bring- decades, centuries… Through our effort, The Golden Kingdom will take shape. We shall build it. We failed to understand the prophecy and expected it to be given, but no! No, gifts! The gods of the desert are not kind gods, but they are fair! Our heaven must be built, brick by brick by brick.'

"Khemri is Ours. Numas bowed before Us, and their forces became Ours. The remaining Nehekaran territories are currently an unknown, except for Zandri on the coast, which We know to be inhabited by Northerners. Our long sleep of death has likely led them to believe our territory is free to claim. I will soon correct their error.'

"To the east,both north and south easts, swirl greenskins. They are sure to resume their traditional raiding the moment they know Nehekara stirs with life once again.'

"Nehekara is not only two cities, yet we do not currently number enough to fill those two cities. Our esteemed Elders of the Mortuary Cult are here to advise us in the process of awakening the citizenry- a process I've delegated to Lord Lahmizzash here in Numas, and Governor Ahmazid in Khemri. And soon, Lord Klos," King Settra's arm indicated the man dressed in glaring orange, " whom will be Governor of Zandri in the near future.'

"When I seize Zandri from the Northerners, the world will know that the warriors of Nehekara walk the earth. All manner of foreigners are likely to take notice and will descend upon our lands like flies. You are to capture them and hold them, unharmed, until you receive guidance from me. I do not want word to travel that Nehekara is in ruins and divided against itself. Already we are aware of skaven in the mountains to the east- a beast of storybooks. We cannot say what other threats and powers may exist in this world. Our past strength would make trivial all foreign concerns, but that strength is lost, so like a young crocodile, we must grow before eating the buffalo.'

"Lord Lahmizzash, Governor Ahmazid, Elders Nekthop, Elder Aldar. Attend me in my chambers immediately. The rest of you may enjoy the remaining of the evening- return to your duties tomorrow." With that, he turned and left the room, leaving the diners staring at one another. Lahmizzash glanced at Governor Akron, who nodded.

They stood together to leave- the cult elders across the table doing the same. In uneasy silence, they exited the courtyard and followed the guidance of one of Settra's soldiers down a hallway. Elder Aldar increased her speed and stalked past Lahmizzash, obviously desiring precedence when they arrived in King Settra's chamber.

A petty act of little real advantage. Lahmizzash was sure now that this person was a bumbler, a threat perhaps due to obvious malice and stupidity, but not a formidable political opponent. No doubt Elder Aldar thought a private audience with King Settra was a golden opportunity to turn the regent against Lahmizzash and thus attain her own goals. Lahmizzash let her pass. There was no battle to fight there, no value in conflict- only a loss of prestige in engaging with someone of such mediocrity.

King Settra would do as King Settra saw fit, and Lahmizzash was more confident than ever it would be in his favor to simply watch that happen. After the public praise of Lahmizzash and Settra's choice in throwing his plate of sand in Elder Aldar's direction- Lahmizzash had thought his own superior favor would be obvious. Could Elder Aldar still entertain the idea of pressing for Khant's reassignment from King Settra? Anyone of sense would let the matter sleep and wait for a more opportune time. A time when Lahmizzash might have earned some of Settra's ire. At the moment, Lahmizzash may never be higher in King Settra's esteem.


	24. 24

The end of the hallway ended with another large flag, hung in place of a door long rotted away. It was emblazoned with Settra's golden phoenix. Two guards in Settra's colors waited before the flag, and they bowed and lifted open the makeshift partition as the group of dinner guests approached. Elder Aldar and Nekthop entered first. Governor Akron deferred to Lahmizzash, who with higher rank, properly entered ahead of her.

Settra's chamber was a spartan room: bare walls, bare floors, a desk in one corner, a chest in another, and King Settra himself in a stool in the center of the room, watching their arrival. Settra's guards lined the edge of the room, ten in all.

Elder Aldar strode up before King Settra and bowed low. Settra nodded stiffly in acceptance. Before the rest of the party could offer the same formal greeting, she seized the moment.

"King Settra, Lord Lahmazzish refused my demand to release Acolyte Khant from his service!"

Lahmizzash was again amazed by this brazen woman. She acted more like Settra's spoiled daughter than an elder of the Mortuary Cult. Could she be? Lahmizzash searched his memory. No. No, King Settra did not have a daughter, as far as he was aware.

King Settra stared at Eldar Aldar in silence. Then he glanced towards Lahmizzash briefly. "Lord Lahmizzash would dare defy an Elder of my Mortuary Cult?"

Lahmizzash felt his non-present heart leap into his throat.

"That is blasphemous," said King Settra. "The punishment for that is death."

Elder Aldar smiled in glee, glancing back at the stricken Lahmizzash- whom realized he was separated from his personal guards, even from his own sword. Despite all his own reminders to protect himself, he let himself be neatly caught, as easy as a fish in a net. Governor Akron quickly stepped away from him.

"Carry out the sentence, Elder Aldar. Command my guards," said King Settra, waving his hand dismissively, as if he were already bored with the process.

"King Settra-!" Lahmizzash shouted, "Had I known-!"

Settra held out a palm towards him, a command for silence. "I am not interested, Lord Lahmizzash. Remember what I told you on the chariot."

What he said on the chariot? They'd traded fishing stories. That was it. Lahmizzash could not remember any order, any command, any statement which would warn him away from defying the Mortuary Cult. The impulse to object rose in him, but his mind seized upon his own memory, or lack of it. King Settra had said nothing relating to this situation, yet had told him to recall it. Was it a message? Or was the man insane in his undeath? Was Settra's mind creating false memories? There was no way to be sure. He must either gamble with his life in his decision to stand still for the execution or to take his chance and flee.

"Guards, kill Lord Lahmizzash," ordered Elder Aldar, throwing him a satisfied grin. Two of Settra's guards began moving at her command, one from the back left of the room, another from the near right. The rest of the guards remained still.

When the two executioners reached him, it would be too late. They were drawing their swords. Lahmizzash's mind reeled, switching between the urge to flee and the gambler's need to cling to a risked pot. He'd faced several such crossroads over the few hectic days of his new life. He'd made the choice of King Settra every time. It had yet to be the wrong choice. Lahmizzash steeled himself and stood still, watching the guards approach.

King Settra looked around the room, eyeing all of the guards, those in motion and those not. He stood, strode forward, put his hand on the ever-present hilt of his sword. In two snake-like strikes, his sword was a gleam in the light of the room's glowstones, a meteorite streak which flashed and vanished before one could register the movements. The two moving guards fell to the earth, decapitated, their heads clacking loudly to the stone floor.

King Settra pointed his sword menacingly at the Mortuary Cult Elders. "Seize them," he said. The rest of the guards sprang to life, bounded forward, and 16 sinewy, mummy-wrapped hands grasped the cultists with iron grips.

Cool, sweet relief blew softly through Lahmizzash's psyche. He'd made the right decision, but the weight of weariness fell upon him almost instantly. There had been too many anxious moments these last days, too much mind-numbingly dangerous moments and an equal number of climactic releases of tension. He felt tired, his mind a sore ball of heavy iron inside his skull. He hoped he could just stand and be an audience member of whatever machination King Settra had just used him to spring.

"King Settra," shrieked Eldar Aldar, "What are-? Why? You told me to kill him!"

Elder Nekthop remained silent, as he'd had been all night, though he somehow managed to look even more pale and dead than before.

King Settra sheathed his sword and regained his seat. "I had an interesting conversation with Elder Nekthop this afternoon."

Elder Aldar remained still. To her credit, she did not look at Nekthop next to her, but the sudden tension of her body was an obvious enough tell.

"I sat down with Elder Nekthop and told him that I'd discovered something he'd failed to tell me. However, I was vague, and while I'd expected to hear about how the populace of Nehekara could be awakened- a process I heard about from Acolyte Khant. I was told something much more interesting. I was told that you, Elder Aldar, before my awakening, planted cultists into my forces. Cultists who would appear as one of my soldiers, act like one of my soldiers, but ultimately, they would be loyal to you. To the Cult. Not to me. King Settra of Nehekara."

"A lie," said Eldar Aldar.

"A LIE?!" shouted King Settra,"TWO OF YOUR MEN LAY AT MY FEAT AND YOU SAY IT IS A LIE!?"

"You destroyed your own soldiers, Settra!" hissed Eldar Aldar.

"My soldiers did not move. Because I did not order them to move. You gave the order. These two followed your command. Your men. Your plants. Amongst my own bodyguard! Your insurance policy that your savior, the legendary King Settra, could be quickly subdued should he move against you like that mad beggar king which forced you to come scurrying into my tomb in the first place. A lie, you say. Ha! Your mind is as fast as the moonrise. You are out of your depth and have been since some fool of a king appointed you." King Settra sighed like a disappointed teacher. "Did you not wonder at the chariot I sent for you? The sudden invitation to a banquet, with barely enough time to return? A hell-frothed chariot ride across the dunes at reckless speed? Traveling in hours for what a marching man would need days? Damaging multiple awakened horses in the process!"

Elder Aldar had lapsed into a sullen silence.

Settra continued: "Did you believe that King Settra required your advice so badly that he would order such a thing done? I think yes, that is likely just it. You were so sure in my need for you, out you ran to gain favor."

Lahmizzash realized this was why Aldar had been so brazen at dinner. She interpreted Settra's summons as favor. Even better: reliance. King Settra relied on her, she must have thought. That would give her leverage, or so she obviously believed.

Elder Aldar looked desperate now. "I acted wisely. I created leverage over a stronger ally. An assurance! You would have done the same!"

King Settra smiled grimly. "Probably, but I would succeed. You failed. What is more, you sought to create a means by which you could force me to serve you, or eliminate me if I became a threat. You awoke me from the sleep of death with that express purpose: that I would serve you and your administration."

"Settra does not serve." King Settra waved his hand to his guards. "Crush her skull."

The hands of two guards moved from Aldar's neck to the sides of her skull. "Wait! King Set-!" Her plea was truncated by the sudden pop of shattering bone. He body fell limp to the floor, shards of her head skittering over the smooth stone floor.

"Nekthop." said King Settra.

"Yes…" Elder Nekthop said feebly.

"You omitted important information from your king. That is treason. For that your title and your life, such as it is, is forfeit."

Nekthop remained silent, his bony jaw ground together slightly.

"However, it was convenient for you to reveal your secrets upon just my asking. It would be convenient for you to assist me in weeding out other cultist operatives amongst my soldiers. So long as you remain a person convenient to have alive, you will be. Do you understand?

Nekthop nodded vigorously.

"What else have you not told me?"

Nekthop's face became anxious, he seemed to be desperately thinking. "Elder Aldar secured a number of texts in her office. She did not allow the other elders to review them."

"Interesting." King Settra turned to Lahmizzash and Governor Akron. "Lady Akron, the Mortuary Compound in Khemri is now under your jurisdiction."

The Lady Akron bowed.

"Lord Lahmizzash, you will no longer be required here in Numas. I will have Governor Klos begin administration here. Where is Acolyte Khant?"

"He is at the local Cult compound, researching rituals and historical records."

"Well, fetch him back up. He is now Elder Khant, and he will lead the Cult from now on. Take him with you back to Khemri. Secure the Cult headquarters. Find the means by which to accomplish our goals. I trust you were listening at dinner?"

"Closely, my King," said Lahmizzash.

"Good. Then go. Work towards the vision I have laid before you. Report to me in my tomb in a month's time. I will be victorious from Zandri by then. And do check Elder Aldar's office."

"At once, King Settra," Lord Lahmizzash bowed deeply, but turned to Nekthop instead. "What else do you know about my family's tomb?"

"Nothing, Lord Lahmizzash! Only what Elder Aldar said: it is empty of your relatives. It was news to me as it was to you!"

"Lord Lahmizzash," growled King Settra, "Why are you still here?"

"I am gone, my King!" said Lahmizzash, striding quickly out of the room and back down the halls of ruined Numas Palace. He would gather his men, track down Khant, and begin the journey immediately. The Mortuary Compound in Khemri was only a short distance from his own tomb. He would see the state of it for himself!


	25. 25

A new morning sun found Lahmizzash and Khant in the palm of the hierotitan, Pellon. His great strides taking them quickly over the desert sands. Lahmizzash's small army was already far behind them, with orders to march to Khemri. Lahmizzash wanted to have significant force on hand when he entered the Mortuary Cult's headquarters to install Khant and complete King Settra's coup of that organization. But he did not need to be tethered to his undead army, which at the moment, was of unquestioning loyalty though unimpressive ground speed. The extra travel time of his troops allowed him the anticipated window to return to his tomb and see for himself what fate had befallen his loved ones.

Elder Aldar's words still echoed in his mind, "It is empty." A simple statement of a fact- but like a weed gone to seed, doubts flowed upon the wind of his mind to grow and fester into speculative scenarios: a political coup after his death, an unexpected succession of the throne, a more recent grave robbing, or perhaps they awakened before him and were amongst those wandering mad in the desert?

He cursed himself for worrying over things which may have happened in the past. If he'd taken a moment to read the literal writing on his tomb's walls, he may already know all about what he was to find. But no, he rushed off to King Settra, and then rushed off to Numas, and never took the few hours it would take to learn of the history of his family after his death. A foolish omission.

Does one just assume, subconsciously, that history stops while one is dead? Is that why he had not thought to do so? An unconscious aversion to the idea that everyone he knew was really their own entity, and went on living after he was dead? Possibly. Or maybe he'd just been distracted by finding himself in a state of undeath and meeting King Settra himself. Lahmizzash was a King, and a good one, or so he prided himself to be. And a good king always placed duty to the realm first.

That devotion was a sacrifice. A sacrifice of life, time, of family and friendship. Perhaps that is why he'd placed learning of his long dead relatives so low on his priority list. So the worry of fantasy gnawed away at him, with little but the slowly rising sun and the dunes of fallen Nehekara to distract him. Khant, the sentient skull atop Lahmizzash's staff, was silent- likely brooding over his unexpected promotion to head of the Mortuary Cult.

At least it was a relief to be away from the bustle of Numas, which swarmed with undead soldiers and cultists. Lahmizzash was still not used to seeing troupes of corpses running around- it was a constant reminder of their weird existence and a sight from which the sane mind recoiled. A clean morning sky, a sunrise, a landscape of dunes. Nothing in that was an affront to the basic expectation of a human mind, not like how a rotting corpse walking through a street challenged the basic idea that the dead were dead. Because now… they were not. If death walked the streets, what did life do? What was the difference? That had been such an easy differentiation before, like the difference between night and day or up and down. But life and death were so much alike now- it was unnerving.

Lahmizzash frowned and forced his mind away from these questions. He was letting himself spoil this rare moment of reflection. If he could just stop thinking so much, stop worrying, and relax during this unavoidable travel time- he might dispel some of the weariness that seemed to always weigh upon his mind, just behind the eyes. But he could not force his mind totally away, instead, he began recalling the plans for his tomb.

Near the main chamber where he was to be buried, there was to be a separate room for his wife. While Lahmizzash and Makea shared a bed their entire marriage, tradition said they did not sleep together in death. At the time, Lahmizzash had not thought that to be a real concern- when they died, their spirits passed into another realm altogether, so what difference did a few dozen meters between their corpses make? But now... If he'd protested and placed her sarcophagus near his, perhaps they would have awoken together when Nekthop came knocking.

Down the narrow final hallway would be the room for his daughter, Neferata. After that, his younger son, Ushoran. Meanwhile, his heir and eldest son, would be buried in his own tomb, as he would be king of Nehekara in his own right, and a new tomb would be required. In days post, there was a popular obsession of crypts and an abundance of money, the aristocracy did not follow a more sensible single-family crypt system. No royal son, whom after living half their life in the shadow of their father, wanted to be buried inside it. He would make his own crypt. And so crypts had proliferated. In fact, Lahmizzash 's father, Lahmizzar, was buried back in Lahmia, their home city- as he'd never been King in Khemri, only a leading king amongst a large alliance of the smaller cities.

Lahmizzash's mind chugged to a stop. A large alliance of kings. Led by his father. Yes, that had happened, but why had it happened. He couldn't remember, even though an alliance of kings would only be generated by realm-wide political events of historical import- but he couldn't remember one. Not a reason why the alliance was formed, or even to what purpose it was formed. How could one forget such a major detail?

"Khant, do you know the name of my father?"

"Of course," said Khant, "King Lahmizzar of Lahmia. He was famous for gathering a large host of kings to his banner."

"Yes, but why did he do that?"

Khant didn't immediately respond. "Ah…Sorry, I don't remember. I think that part of your tomb's walls was damaged. Otherwise I would have read it."

That's right, Lahmizzash suddenly remembered something Nekthop had said on that evening of his awakening. That he'd read all of Lahmizzash's walls.

"Did you read all the walls of my tomb, like Elder Nekthop did?"

"Alas, no," said Khant, "I was tasked with various duties related to the ritual."

Damn! For a second, Lahmizzash had hoped Khant would already have all his answers. "No matter," said Lahmizzash, "We shall soon see for ourselves. There, Settra's pyramid. We are not far now."

In fact, it was only a few dunes more to where Lahmizzash's tomb still remained mostly buried under the sands. It was a desolate place, not much more than a dark opening in the bright daylight. No soldiers or cultists awaited them. Pellon set them down upon the stone entrance.

"Here, can you hold these in here?" Lahmizzash placed a glow stone in each of Khant's ears.

"This is demeaning, Lord Lahmizzash," said Khant.

"Oh, hush, I need to keep a hand free. Plus, now that you are a cult Elder, I need to make sure your ego doesn't get out of control."

"I'm not an accessory."

"I know. You're a valuable magic relic."

"That's basically the same thing!"

"But a more prestigious version. Just bear with it and light those stones, Khant. I need to see what has happened to my family."

Khant grumbled under his breath, but the stones in his ear dimples flickered to life. Lahmizzash held Khant before him and entered the tomb, shedding light upon the darkness within. The grand gallery of Lahmizzah's crypt was relatively modest, only about a thousand square meters. The light of the glowstones vanished into the dark, unable to pierce all the way to the walls which were filled with alcoves of gems and gold and the like. Most of the floor space, outside the central walkway, was dominated by four-meter tall humanoid statutes.

As a hobbyist architect, Lahmizzash favored sculptors, especially those who worked with stone. He'd commissioned hundreds of Nehekaran sculptors and stonemasons to craft him these wonderful figures- stone warriors, ushapti. Some wielded swords, others bows, but all were carved to be imposing and fierce. He'd had them all placed in his tomb as guardians, rather than the more customary bodies of his own bodyguard. Lahmizzash had not been keen on the tradition of royal guards joining their king in death, so the ushapti were made to stand guard while his retired royal guard lived on after him, enjoying their own lives and fates- to be buried in the king's tomb later if they so desired.

Lahmizzash moved on, deeper into his own grave.


	26. 26

Once past the hall of guardian soldiers, the hallways narrowed into the actual family complex. His own tomb was straight ahead in the largest space, at the back. In simple chronological order, the youngest son, Ushoran would be the one closest to the entrance of the tomb. The opening to his crypt was on the right side.

Lahmizzash lifted his Khant-staff and examined the archway. Much of it was damaged from the collapse, but Nekthop's cultists had faithfully cleared the debris and burrowed through to the intact passageway. Still, even with the damage, the archway looked relatively sparse of carvings. It said Ushoran's name and that he was the youngest son of King Lahmizzash Yak'reb, as was expected. But no other events were mentioned. It was mostly blank.

He proceeded down the hall, which after only a few dozen steps, opened to his youngest son's grave. But indeed, it was empty. There was nothing in the room. No sarcophagus. No gold, gems, treasure. Elder Aldar had been entirely truthful in her description. Lahmizzash stepped into the thick dust and sand which covered the floor, holding aloft Khant's head and the glowstones, seeking some sort of clue.

No only was the room empty- but it was bare. The walls which were to record the accolades of his son's life were smooth virgin stone. It was exactly as it had been when it was built. Normally, the carving would begin as the person grew late in life- but that had never happened. Why could that have been? Had his dynasty faltered? His line ended? Perhaps his sons fought over money and Ushoran lost. Maybe he could not pay for the carvers. No. Then he would be here himself, at least, a pauper with bare walls, but still the pauper son of a king. But not even that occurred.

"You're sure you read nothing of my family's history, Kant?"

"I would not keep it from you if I had, Lord Lahmizzash."

Lahmizzash's jaw was tight, his teeth grinding idly. There was nothing in here but more questions. He left. Next up in the hallway was his only daughter, Neferata: a stunning beauty, intelligent, headstrong. A terrific ruler, to be sure, had she been born first. Alas, as it was, she was still seeking a worthy husband when Lahmizzash had died. He'd worried then that such a man did not exist in Nehekara. Not that Neferata was much interested in marriage. She'd wanted to join the Mortuary Cult, but in Lahmizzash's time, they only accepted men. That had been hard on her- perhaps Lahmizzash could have handled that better and avoided some dark years in their relationship. Elder Aldar had been a woman, and head elder. She must have come from a time after Lahmizzash's death…

He entered Neferata's crypt- but it was just like Ushoran's: empty and bare. Though in this instance, it could be more reasonably explained. Neferata must have married well and was now buried with her husband's family. A royal family of some other major city, most likely. But generally a record of that marriage would be carved here - some token recording of the fate of King Lahmizzash's daughter. But nothing. Not a word. Lahmizzash's teeth ground together again, he was tense with frustration. Questions. Questions. He was buried with no one but questions.

Walking quickly now, he strode to Makea's passage and entered. Here the archway, and even the entire passage to the crypt was carved in detailed recordings of humanitarian accomplishments and state visits and the other duties of a queen in a kingdom. These gave Lahmizzash hope as he skimmed by, eager to see the room.

The light of his staff burst forth into his wife's grave, and twinkled off the gilded carvings on both wall and pillar. This was what a proper crypt was supposed to look like! Except the center of the room was empty- the sarcophagus missing from an empty pedestal, empty, cold, and dark.

Lahmazzash unleashed his peaking frustration into an angry shout what was half yell and half growl. Empty, empty, empty! Where was his family? He sprung to the empty pedestal and scanned the cravings there- nothing of import, just some descriptions of his wife's beauty and kindness. Standard crypt fluff. He trotted over to the nearest wall, the right side, where the most recent carvings should be.

The wall advised that Makea had lived almost two decades after he had died. She was a respected and powerful dowager for his eldest son, King Lakhashar, and then she died and was buried here. All as it should be. Except her body was missing! She was supposed to be here, but she was gone. What had happened?

"I am sorry, Lord Lahmizzash," said Khant, quietly.

His own tomb was sealed when he died, so no new information would be there. Any useful information should have been in the halls and rooms of his wife and children. His wife's crypt offered no clues, and his children's rooms were unused. Perhaps his eldest son's crypt would hold answers, but Lahmizzash had no idea where it might be or if it even survived the mysterious collapse of Nehekara. Lakhashar's crypt was still but loose plans on paper when Lahmizzash died.

He needed a new source of information, and his next destination seemed the best option: the headquarters of the Mortuary Cult in Khemri. This run ahead to his tomb was an empty trip, but his army was still marching- so it was not time lost. He had more time to spend- was there some profit he could gain in this place?

"Khant, when Nekthop awakened my army- did he awaken all of them?"

"No, a fraction only. At the time, I thought time was the concern. The rituals can be lengthy, so there is a limit to how many can be performed. Depending on staffing, of course."

"But I can awaken troops myself?"

"Erm, yes, I believe so. King Settra does. Ubaid did. And the other unaffiliated kings have as well."

"How do I do it? I awakened Pellon, but all I remember is being angry. I did not command him. He responded."

"Interesting. Well, the Mortuary Cult rituals are aspects of magic- a force that, if I am honest, is impossible to fully understand. In our rituals and spells, we follow the formulas and the processes which were discovered by our ancestors- a real mage: a magical innovator- is incredibly rare. One in a hundred generations. Only they few manage to invent new ways to utilize magic."

Lahmizzash sighed inwardly. Khant could be pedantic at times- but Lahmizzash knew if he kept the skull yapping, the good information would eventually tumble out.

"So I didn't awaken Pellon with a spell?"

"No, no, no. You are not magical, Lord Lahmizzash. You are a mundane, normal individual. Outside of our shared undead status: You are plain and dull. Ah.. Er.. I mean, Lord Lahmizzash, that as a human being and a king you are exceptional! Very admirable in many aspects and-"

"Save it, Khant, I know what you meant. I'm aware I'm no magician. But how did Pellon wake up?"

"Pellon is magic, Lord Lahmizzash. He is a willing soul infused into a meticulously crafted form. The Cult used a ritual to make that happen. You did not wake him- he woke himself. He must have heard you or felt you- your emotion- your aura, which would be much more volatile- more noisy- if you became emotionally stressed."

"But common soldiery are not magical. They are dead humans. Mundane, is the word you used. Did they awaken themselves?"

"No. Forgive me, Lord Lahmizzash, no. You are, forgive me again, a layman in these areas. It seems you consider the awakening of a statue, or a king, or a common soldier- all as the same process because the result is the same: an undead or living-non-living object becomes awake- sentient. But! Though the outcome seems the same, the processes by which the thing is made possible is different. I believe you can raise troops yourself, but they will not awaken themselves, like Pellon. Instead... ah, this is very technical, do you really want to hear this?"

"Yes. I am always interested in understanding something."

"Very well. Erm.. Uh… the soldiers, yes, the soldiers buried here are dead. They cannot be awakened, as they are not stored- their souls anyway- their souls were not stored here, like yours was, for example. However, the Cult would still perform a ritual on them, a ritual of… of… linking, I suppose- or perhaps 'connecting' is a better word. The departed soul and the recently deceased body share a connection, an affinity, that fades over time. If the appropriate ritual is performed within the proper time frame, that affinity, that link between soul and body, can be preserved. The body will retain it. Forever, as far as we know."

"And so a different kind of ritual can activate that link once again?"

"Yes. Like lighting a lamp- the soul will come back to it like a moth in the dark of night."

"But I don't know the ritual. I can still light this lamp?"

"It must be possible. There is no other explanation for the ability of awakened kings to raise their troops from the dead. Perhaps like with Pellon- those loyal dead will still have an affinity for you, and so your order, your request, your… aura can potentially light the lamp and call their souls back- just like in a ritual."

"How?"

"I don't know," said Khant, "This is all new territory, Lord Lahmizzash. None of us cultists are kings. You can only teach yourself- I think."


	27. 27

Lahmizzash's tomb was quite small when compared to the vast necropoli constructed by many other rulers of Nehekara. As a result, the general burial grounds of his tomb were outside the tomb itself, in what was once a large garden-park, many times larger than the stone construction itself. These grounds flowed with fountains and were nearly always bursting with blooming flowers and fruiting trees, all of which visitors could partake and enjoy.

Those loyal dead of his own forces, whom lacking a family tomb themselves, were buried there for free, with honor, with their king whom they served in life. The rituals were simple, and many went directly into the ground without a casket- but to a soldier's family: nourishing the verdant gardens of King Lahmizzash's tomb seemed a pleasant and fitting end to a loved one's mortal existence, so burials were popular. Even when Lahmizzash himself had been young and only just beginning the interior of the main crypt- the soldiers whom served his father would be buried in the gardens, since his father's tomb in Lahmia was too far away from Khemri. The great king's heir was close enough, and Lahmizzash turned none away.

Upon exiting his tomb into the burning desert sun- none of what once was could be seen. Where there should be acres of life and color, there was just sand. Sand which blanketed all, as if there had been nothing there in the first place. The dark entrance from which he emerged was near the bottom of a trough between two giant wandering dunes- each about fifty feet tall at their peak. The wind whisked away sand from the tops of these dunes, blowing away like smoke. In such seemingly insignificant movements of sand, these dunes would wander across the land in the coming centuries. Reburying his tomb. Reburying Khemri.

Where would he be, wondered Lahmizzash. Would he come back here, centuries from now, and remember that this dune used to be there, and that dune was over there? No living man would be able to do that. But did that matter? Was a lifespan which allowed geological processes to be witnessed… a valuable thing? A big pile of sand moved slowly from one place to another. A mountain of sand, a giant wave in slow motion, flowed across the land over centuries. Depending on how you framed the event, it could be either mundane or amazing.

Similarly, the soldiers buried under all this sand are just old corpses. And they are an army waiting to rise. They are willing and eager servants of the crown. They are slaves to the cultist magic and the royal bloodline which controls it. A Nehekaran host awaiting their awakening. A pile of corpses ready for reanimation.

Lahmizzash baked in the sunlight, not aware of the sun, or the day. He could raise an army. He was sure of it, despite not knowing exactly how. But should he? Is this something that should be done? What was the point? His family was gone. Lahmizzash despaired of the odds. Could they be found in this wasteland? Were they even out there to be found? There was no way to know. His own personal goal seemed hopelessly out of reach, even for an immortal man. Why then… should he do anything else? He could lay down, right here. Let the wind bury him in sand while he just- go back to sleep. An eternity of rest and idleness. That could be good.

No. That was ridiculous.

It was time to face the obvious: something had gone terribly wrong. The ruin of his civilization, the desiccation of the land it was built upon, his own unnatural undeath, his missing family, the empty crypts throughout the ruin of Khemri, the Erased-Name- all of these things- all of them were linked. Lahmizzash was unsure how, but he knew they were linked, could feel it in his gut, despite not having one. His lapses in memory regarding the reason his father gathered a host of kings to his banner,- and come to think of it, the death of his father was also a blank. Blank spaces. Blank rooms. Empty sarcophagi. Empty crypts. Erased history. The Erased-Name.

The weight of the past day's worries and thoughts congealed into a sticky ball of anger in the front of his skull. He was tired of that weight, the worry, the stress. He was tired of more questions. It was time for answers. He heard again Nekthop's voice: Elder Aldar secured a number of texts in her office. She did not allow the other elders to review them. So, answers may be near at hand. And he had orders to subdue and capture the Mortuary Cult Compound itself, where those texts were held. There was no telling what sort of resistance he might find. How many might be loyal to Elder Aldar, or other allied elders. A bunch of ancient fools and their cronies, standing between Lahmizzash and the answers to his worries, the truth of everything.

That potentiality for defiance struck like a stone upon Lahmizzash's kingly iron will. The contact sent a spark, and that tar ball of anger burst into roaring flame. Lahmizzash would not be denied. The Cult was ruled, it did not rule. It did not hide things from him, a king of Khemri. He felt the heat of anger flush through his body like a wildfire. His vision tunneled. Nothing else existed but him and the sand about him.

"Warriors of House Yak'reb!" he shouted into the silent desert, "Your city is in ruin! Your family crypts despoiled!" He funneled his anger into his voice, into his chest, and it burst forth into the air from his lips: "All that you lived for! All that you died for!- is gone! Awaken! We must rebuild! Awaken! There are foes abound! Awaken! There is vengeance to be had!" Lahmizzash threw up his hands with the land of his words, his palms spread and wide.

An eddy of wind whipped through his clothing, buffeting the fabric, then went silent. Sand continued to drift in the wind at the top of the dunes. The world remained silent. Lahmizzash lowered his arms- his spent rage leaving an emptiness behind. Nothing was happening. He'd felt sure that would work. He'd felt the same intensity of emotion as when he'd accidently awakened Pellon. Perhaps Khant was wrong. There must be more to this than that.

A new, quiet sound gained Lahmizzash's attention. A sort of hissing. Snakes? No! Moving sand! Something was digging through the sand below him. He stepped back a few strides as he felt a movement in the sand below his feet. The hissing grew still louder as the movement of sand became visible on the surface, downwardly collapsing sand flowed downward into itself, into the ground to replace the sand that was being moved further down- forming a small dimple, a crater in the surface of the desert. Lahmizzash looked up and saw the same occurring everywhere between the dunes, hundreds, thousands of small holes were developing.

The dead are awake.


	28. 28

On the low dunes south of the ruins of Khemri, Lord Lahmizzash Yak'Reb; King of Numas; Once-King of Khemri; vassal of Settra, King of Kings- united his original forces with his new levies. His paltry three companies was now increased to ten, six of spears, two of swords, 2 of archers. He also was surrounded by his Tomb Guard, they led by those individuals who escorted him through the city of Numas during their infiltration. The Tomb Guard Ten he called them. To himself. And finally, the massive humanoid form of Pellon the hierotitan hulked behind them all.

Lahmizzash habitually rode in the upturned palm of Pellon, but this time he was resolved to travel as his troops did: on foot across the sands. He was personally curious how it felt to walk across the desert in this new undead state- and he was professionally curious, too. He generally knew what such travel might be like for living soldiers, but he was unsure of these… undead versions. How would travel impact their fighting ability? Would the terrain impact their movement in unexpected ways? To find out, Lahmizzash would walk behind them with his bodyguard. He was also curious what Pellon was capable of when he didn't have one hand constantly carrying him about like a grape.

His troops in column for travel, Lahmizzash strode off across low dunes. Within a hundred yards, the dust and sand kicked into the air was so thick, Lahmizzash could barely see the company in front of him. He and his Tomb Guard hurried ahead to the front of army to enjoy clear air and better visibility.

All the companies stretched behind him until those most rear were obscured from his view by the sand and dust kicked up by the first half of his forces. It would not be a long march, as the Mortuary Cult compound was not far from the old city limits, on a stubby plateau of rock to the west of the city center. Perhaps when it was constructed, it was remote and imposing for the average person- being a half-days walk from the city. But as Khemri grew in prominence, the city had sprawled until houses and shops came lapping at the compound's base, like a wave of urbanity at high tide. All that now under a tide of sand, of course, but a few more prominent ruins dotted the landscape- though nothing as dense as the city near Settra' pyramid.

Marching over sand was frustrating. Lahmizzash did not feel fatigue, as he did when alive, but after an hour of plunging his feet into the sand and pulling them back out, he felt- odd. He felt just ever so slightly out of sorts- like… like… the world's colors were just a bit too pale, but it was so subtle that he continuously second guessed himself that he was seeing anything at all. All the colors are different, no they were always like that, no it was definitely different, something was different.

His walking gait began to feel slightly… awkward… like when he had been a young man and was about to pass a beautiful woman, he'd started thinking about how he was walking and suddenly, magically, he had felt that his walk was awkward- like he forgot how to walk and was just forcing himself through the paces. He felt that now, too, out in the desert sun, and no single scrap of undecayed female flesh within thousands of miles, presumably. And his sexual organ in a jar, buried in the sand somewhere off to the south east.

He paused at the next dune-top, and startled from the cacophony of his thousands of soldiers coming to an abrupt stop an instant later. He looked back at his army's long column, dust shrouded but obviously staring directly at him- thousands of dark, eyeless skulls, boring into him, obsessive in their absolute attention. It was still unnerving. It might always be thus, if Khant could not figure a way to restore the individual will of each soul out there.

"There is the compound," said Khant from his place atop Lahmizzash's staff, and indeed, Lahmizzash looked out across the rolling dunes, eyes scanning until they found a grouping of stone structures- a fortress atop a stocky, red-rocked ridge line, the sands of Nehekara lapping against their base like a golden surf.

"It certainly looks more militant than I remember," said Lahmizzash, noting at least two wall systems, easily discernable even at this distance. "The compound of my memory was more a gardened cathedral."

"And its denizens," said Lahmizzash slowly, as dozens of banners abruptly peaked their way above a dune ridge much nearer by. A veritable swarm of figures followed the banners, marching up into clear view and down the near side of the dune- soldiers, hundreds of them, their armor and weapons glinting in the sun. "Were much more scholarly…"

He turned to his Tomb Guard Ten, now his sergeants, all of them staring at him. "Go to your companies, bring them into the battle line atop the ridge! Go, now!" They rushed off without words, sprinting through the sand back down the line of the army.

He turned back to the enemy army rapidly deploying before them. Soldiers were still pouring over the dune ridge in a disheartening current of militarized corpses.

"And get Pellon up here!" He shouted at his sergeants, they sprinting down the backside of the dune along the still troops. The hierotitan was back there somewhere- a rear guard for an army Lahmizzash could not see the rear of. He gauged the speed of the enemy's deployment. It would be a close thing, even with Pellon's massive stride. Lahmizzash would really prefer having a heirotitan between him and the enemy when this battle started.

Who wouldn't?


	29. 29

_From the Tomb of Lazmizzash Yak'reb, East Wall, Main Hallway, Section 1E.a._

 _"Once, young Prince Lahmizzash attended a hunt with the King and the Queen. He evaded the notice of his caretakers and adventured into the wild alone. The prince came upon a large oryx, dead upon the ground. As boys are wont to do, Prince Lahmizzash picked up a stick and poked the corpse. So disturbed, a swarm of beetles erupted from their feeding places within. And so the Prince's panicked handlers found their charge, valiantly destroying the insects with a stick. With affection, they dubbed him Prince Lahmizzash, Vermin-Bane."_

Enemy soldiers crowded up from behind the dune like disturbed scarabs, and when it seemed like the top could hold no more, they swarmed down the near side into the dune valley in front of Lahmizzash and his slowly deploying army. It was as if this land was a giant corpse, and thus agitated by Lahmizzash's advance, the vermin burst forth from unseen places. The only option was eradication.

The initial rush of adrenaline and anxiety was fading from Lahmizzash's mind. While the appearance of an opposing army was a complete surprise, his experienced eye revealed he had a great deal of time before the enemy's forces reached his own. Perhaps not enough time to fully deploy his own troops, but certainly enough to gain respectable control of this situation. He gazed upon the enemy with a now calm and emotionless eye.

They were undead, just as his own soldiers were. However, the enemy troops were simply rushing forward now as fast as they could, with no discernable order or organization amongst them. It was more a mob of swordsman than an army- as if someone had pointed a finger at Lahmizzash and ordered them to attack and figured that was enough. Which, to be fair, sometimes is enough in a pinch- but no experienced military mind would conduct an ambush that way, surely.

This close to Khemri, the only non-military minds in command of large numbers of awakened Nehekarans would be Mortuary Cultists. King Settra wiped out all the other Awakened Kings shortly after his emergence from the great pyramid. But until now, the Cult was an ally. Now it was an asset. An asset in the hands of forces more loyal to the Cult leadership than to King Settra himself. Lahmizzash needed to ensure that was a fatal mistake.

Lahmizzash's archers were arriving at the top of the dune- an ideal spot for them. Unfortunately, enemy archers were spreading out along the neighboring dune, too. Arrows began to fall amongst his gathering army. One skeletal spearman took an arrow to the head, shattering it into bone shards. The corpse fell to the ground, a motionless pile of bones in the sand.

His forces were taking losses, but there was little to be done about it at the moment. Lahmizzash jogged down the line to where his archers were spreading out.

"Bowman! Fire where the enemy is thickest! Fire at will!"

This was shaping up to be a brawl to the finish. Not like anyone involved had lives to preserve, and few even had the free will to make a choice about it anyway. Nothing to be done but inflict as much damage to the enemy as possible- so shoot arrows into the thickest ranks and there are fewer wasted arrows. The twang of stiff bow-strings sang out as Lahmizzash ran back to his company of his tomb guard. Arrows fell about him. He would just have to weather their fire. The enemy archers were more likely to run out of ammo before his own soldiers would get the chance to fight their way to them.

He was almost back when a sharp impact at the base of his neck threw him off his stride and into the sand. His tomb guard scrambled about him- blocking out the sun, sky, and rain of arrows with their upraised shields. Pain arced through Lahmizzash's left shoulder. He sat up and turned his head, an arrow shaft protruded alongside his head- its tip buried deep in his collar where his neck and shoulders met. Just looking at it made the pain more intense. So this was what a wound was like in this undead state- it didn't feel much different than when Lahmizzash was alive. He grunted and cursed under his breath- icy agony rolling from his shoulder, up his neck, and swirling around his consciousness like a bucket of snowmelt.

However, this was partly an illusion. His body may become inoperable if it were to suffer enough damage, but he no longer possessed vitals or organs. The arrow may sting. His mind might send up pain alarms out of old habits. The arrow may leave a hole in his neck. But it could not really disrupt his capabilities as a sentient being. More so than ever, pain was a figment of the mind which could be quelled by the will. Lahmizzash extracted the arrow with disgust, feeling the ripping of his insides as the point came out, but letting the pain of it wash over him like sand over bare stone. There was a battle to win.

He regained his feet, but the tomb guard maintained their shield canopy.

"Get out of the way!" he snarled.

The guards immediately in front of him parted enough to give him a view of the battlefield. The enemy soldiers were starting their way up the slope of Lahmizzash's dune. He glanced left and right- about half of his companies were battle ready, lined up along the dune ridge. It would be enough. More than enough. The seemingly endless mob of the cultist army was finally showing signs of dwindling arrivals, fewer were appearing over the far dune, and most were in the trough between the dunes.

Lahmizzash realized he didn't have to do anything. He was in a defensive position on high ground. His forces were being harassed by a relatively inconsequential amount of enemy archers. He would wait and the enemy would break upon his army like the waves on rocky shores. Pellon the hierotian, when he finally lumbered up here, was going to be overkill in the extreme.

"Close ranks! Close ranks! Runners! Tell them all to close ranks. Be a wall!" he shouted. Some of his outer guards bolted off, one in each direction. The message quickly spread- somehow. Did the soldiers have some other way of communicating with each other? Lahmizzash didn't know how, but in short order, he saw all of his companies tightening together, soldiers coming shoulder to shield to hold the line against the charging enemy. Meanwhile, the lumbering threat of Pellon was now audible on the backslope of the dune, the last of his army was on the way up.

A quivering banner caught Lahmizzash's eye as it poked above the enemy's dune crest. It was a light sky blue with white flowing streaks, billowing in the brisk desert wind.

"It's the old man! Khatep!" said Khant. "Its Hierophant Khatep! He's awake!"

"Who?" said Lahmizzash, "Who is that? Is he an ally?"

The banner continued to climb into the sky. A bright figure in cultist robe's followed the banner into view. And so did the beast he rode upon: a giant stone lion. It settled uneasily atop the sand, its stony, snarling face menacing the battlefield. It towered over the soldiers around it, nearly three times taller to the shoulder.

A beacon of orange light appeared in the rider's raised hand. It grew briefly in brilliance, than shot through the air at Lahmizzash's army. A company of swordsman exploded in fire and dust- a cacophony of knocking bone, clattering arms and armor, punctuated with the final hiss of falling sand.

Lahmizzash cursed himself. "Spread out! Spread out! Runners! Tell them to-"

Another orange ball exploded, catapulting pieces of bone across the battlefield. A smoking crater appeared from the smoke where once was the core of a company of spearmen. This had been the plan all along. Lure Lahmizzash into concentrating his forces, then blasting them with this vile witchcraft!

Defense was no longer an option. This "Khatep" and his potent magic would devastate Lahmizzash's forces in short order. The only advantage left to exploit was the dune itself.

"Attack! Attack! Charge!" Lahmizzash shouted, and not willing to wait for runners, he charged out himself- out from under the shields of his guards. The tomb guard were upon him instantly, both following and leading Lahmizzash down the dune and into the enemy lines- the other companies were quick to take the example.

Lahmizzash's readied forces ran downslope, full tilt into the cultist army running up at them. They met with a deafening clack of bone and steel.


	30. Chapter 30

Lahmizzash had fought in battles- usually on chariot, but sometimes one improvised on foot. He didn't particularly enjoy the experience. Battle represented a chaos which threatened to rip everything from a person- their past experience, their future prospects, anything that person would have done, could have done, might have enjoyed- all that person is- is potentially transformed into an inanimate piece of meat in the dirt- bloody and with shit in their pants. For Lahmizzash, battle represented a failure of strategy. Any person of intellect would be averse to the inherent chancy nature of open warfare.

It was also noisy, messy, and exhausting. Not comfortable at all. In this instance, all the combatants were technically already dead- which eliminated many of warfare's inconveniences. But the silence of this battle was unnerving- his bodyguard, the enemy- scarce yards separated them but the only sound was the shuffling of sand around skeletal feet. No yelling, shouting, screaming. Just shifting sand and the wind. Then they collided into clacking bone and clanging steel.

Lahmizzash's advance tomb-guard plowed through the front ranks of the cultists, sapping the enemy unit's momentum. He slowed his own pace, not wishing to charge into the backs of his own troops. However, those foes trampled down were attempting to rise out of the sand- skeletal limbs clawing at the dune for traction. Lahmizash rained in-elegant chops with his sword, shattering skulls and spines- knocking the fallen enemies out of the battle. The rest of his unit performed the same task while the vanguard soldiers were locking themselves into a pitched battle with the remaining cultists, though still more were coming up the dune to queue up behind their embattled comrades.

To the right, allied skeletal spearmen exploded into the air amidst a fireball. There was that Khotep again. His magic was a serious problem. But then the shadow of Lahmizzash's trump card fell upon him- Pellon the heirotitan finally crested the dune.

"Pellon!", shouted Lahimzzash, "The noble on the chariot, get him! Get him!"

Pellon's stone anubis snout turned to the distant chariot as another ball of fire streaked into his left forearm. The giant statue rocked off balance from the blast, stone shards, fire, and smoke billowing away from the impact point. The massive stone arm fell to crater into the sand- a shattered, truncated limb remaining behind. Lahmizzash was entranced by the devastation- his indestructible trump card was not indestructible.

Still, the stone giant staggered but kept to its feet. The anubis head swung back around- eyes glowing with irate fire- energy beams sizzled through the air and a new explosion went skyward from the opponent's end of the battlefield. Pieces of horse bone and rotten chariot wood flamed through the sky.

"Get the rider- get that nobleman! Once we have him, this fight is over! Pellon! Go!"

The statue trudged down the dune toward the distant smoking crater. He idly kicked enemy soldiers as he went, turning dozens into piles of jumbled and disorganized bones.

Then Lahmizzash ran out of time to spectate- enemy swordsman broke through the front line of his tomb guard and a melee was upon him. He blue emblazoned buckler stopped the charging swipes of a sword- he whipped his sword arm around to break the enemies femur- it snapped as the skeleton's weight shifted upon it and the soldier went down into the sand. Lahmizzash chopped at the creature's white skull to keep it down- then he realized too late that two more enemies were upon him, swords upraised. But the massive bulk of Lahmizzash's largest tomb guard flattened them as the bodyguard performed a stunning, flying, cross-chest tackle. Lahmizzash decided he really needed to learn that one's name.

Then, abruptly, all the enemy cultists fell prone to the ground, motionless. Lahmizzash's soldiers continued to mindlessly chop at their still forms.

In the distance, Pellon's remaining fist was held high in the air- a small, robed figure wrapped tight in stone fingers.


	31. 31

Khant's awe and admiration of the raggedy corpse was about the only thing Lahmizzash could regard as evidence of this... Hierophant Khatep's power. The esteemed personage struggled vainly in Pellon's giant fist, screeching about indignity and hissing overly-intellectual insults at the heirotitan: ("You are as ignorant as you are igneous, you stone buffoon! Unhand me! I can create titans superior to you in every way, you obsolete oblisik! You- you- garbage golem!")

"This is the leader of the Mortuary Cult?" said Lahmizzash.

"Yes, he is the eldest of the elders. He awoke King Settra himself," said Khant.

Then if there were any answers to be found in the ruins of Nehekara, they would be in this Khatep's mind. "Pellon!" shouted Lahmizzash, "Lower him down, but don't let him go."

The heirotitan obligingly took to one knee, sending up a explosion of sand which hissed as it rained down upon the still and silent forms of Lahmizzash's undead army- still standing statue alike around the inanimate remains of Khatep's own army of animated skeletons.

Khatep's dessicated face turn to face them as he was lowered down to eye level. "Traitors!" he yelled, "Foolish servants of Nagash! You betray Nehekara even in death!"

Nagash. Lahmizzash's vision whited out. His head felt an intense pressure. Suddenly, the sun was very hot, and he realized he couldn't hear anything. He had no eyelids, but his brain sent signals for eye blinking- old habits- and his vision began to come back to color. Sound returned suddenly.

"-do not serve any Nagash!" Khant was saying, "Where is this nation? In which direction is this Nagash?"

Khatep laughed frantically. "A poor ruse, sir. Cowardly! Speaking with me through your relic instead of with your own mouth. Was your voice put in a jar- like your brain?"

"You mistake me," said Lahmizzash, finding his voice again- shaking off that weird.. episode he just experienced. "I serve King Settra of Nehekara, and no other."

"King Settra? The King of Kings? Settra, Bringer of the Light? Settra, Father of Hawks? Settra, Builder of Cities? Settra, The Great Keeper of-"

"Yes! Yes. King Settra. That one."

"Why would I believe that, betrayer?"

"I'm wearing his colors."

"Anyone can wear a color, fool! You don't convince me. Release me!"

"What is this.. Nagash? Why do you think I serve it?"

"Whom else would seek to plunder the Mortuary Cult? King Settra would not! It is his! He would simply come and take it!"

"He sent me to do that!"

"Lies! Your army was approaching for an assault!"

"My army was marching! That's how it gets to different places!"

"Exactly! For conquering!"

Lahmizzash felt the simmer of rage bubble up within him. This man potentially held all the answers he'd wanted since he awakened to this dead life. Why was Nehekara like this? What happened to them? What went wrong? Where was his family? This Khatep potentially knew it all. But the damned fool was entirely unreasonable.

He could inflict some reason upon him. Lahmizzash witnessed King Settra's creative use of torture upon the undead. That worked beautifully with the late King Ubaid. However, Ubaid was then discarded, his full value already extracted. This was the leader of the Mortuary Cult, the master of all their rituals, the insider of all the inside information. It would take ages to get even a fraction of the truly valuable information out of him, and the most important may never come out, because Lahmizzash would not even know what to question about. One didn't know what one didn't know.

But Khatep knew. Khatep's mind likely commanded a veritable index of information essential to Lahmizzash and King Settras. Khatep could access and reference it at the speed of thought. But only if he was willing to do so.

Lahmizzash fought his anger back down. No. This prize was much too valuable for a subordinate to handle- he'd been king long enough to know what vassals could do to make him exceedingly angry. So as the vassal now- he recognized this was one of those times when current events supercede orders given. That's what quality subordinates do: recognize the bigger picture and act accordingly.

"Enough! Keep your silence then. I'll take you to King Settra and he will ask the questions."

"The torture chambers of your master won't work on me! I'm already dead, fool!"

Lahmizzash didn't bother to respond. He pulled himself on top of Pellon's wrist. The heirotitan, understanding the general motion of events- stood up to its full height. Lahmizzash gazed down upon his army- thousands of skeletons gazed up at him with their empty eyes.

What to do with them? He wanted to move faster than these soldiers could move, but he couldn't just leave them here. Another rebel king could destroy them,or perhaps even steal them through some magic that he was unaware of. He could leave them in command of Khant and have him take control of the Mortuary Cult compound. But no, he wanted Khant to be there to listen to what Khatep said, and ask technical questions about things himself and King Settra would not understand.

But he also could not just leave the Mortuary Cult compound unguarded. And he could not stay himself and summon King Settra- the suspicious man would suspect another trap like with Numas. Nor could he send Pellon back with just Khatep, as then Lahmizzash would not learn what he himself desperately wanted to learn. He needed subordinates himself!

Subordinates. That gave him an idea. "Bodyguard!" he yelled. Then waited for the elite ten tomb guard which had accompanied him into Numas to assemble below him. He recognized a tall, thin one as the guard which stood always near his side. He pointed at that one: "I recognize you as captain! You are to command this army when myself or Elder Khant cannot!"

The guardsman saluted, hand over chest.

Lahmizzash pointed to the big, thick guard whom was always there to save his life. "That man is your second."

"Take the army to the Mortuary Compound and seize it- protecting it from all who would come except myself or King Settra! Go!"

The captain saluted again. Then the elite ten of the guard came together in a circle and stood facing each other. What were they doing? Were they conversing? Four of the guards broke off, the thick one and three others, and they approached Pellon's legs and began climbing up. Bodyguards! His captain was sending bodyguards to go with him.

"Stop! I don't need bodyguards! You need your lieutenants!," yelled Lahmizzash.

The four climbers paused in their climb. They looked back at the captain of the guard. But he turned away, gesturing to the soldiers, whom- reacting to some order, began shuffling into organization. The four bodyguards continued climbing.

Insubordination! And so immediately after he'd honored them! Well, in such matters, kings which listened to their bodyguards tended to be kings for longer. "Pellon. Take us back to Numas."

The stone giant strode off into the sand.


End file.
